


Eclipse

by Mijan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Dark Magic, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Male Bonding, Plotty, Slash, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-25
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 287,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mijan/pseuds/Mijan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You're dead, Potter... I'm going to make you pay..."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Draco swore his revenge on Harry for Lucius's imprisonment, and Harry all but laughed at him. But Draco is planning more than schoolyard pranks this time. The old rivalry turns deadly when Draco abducts Harry for Voldemort. It's the perfect plan, guaranteeing revenge, power, and prestige, all in one blow. But when Draco's world turns upside down, the fight to save himself and Harry begins, and the battle will take them both through hell and back. If they come back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Predator and Prey

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written before the publication of Half-Blood Prince. It's an old story, and while I could go back and edit slightly, improve things, and fix mistakes, I decided not to. So... let's go back a few years, and imagine that the last bit of canon that we know is Order of the Phoenix. Here are my original notes:
> 
> The Potter world is a hard place, especially now. There are no simple answers, love doesn't come easy, and fear can kill you. This is not a dark-fic, and yes, there will be slash. However, there is no reward without challenge, and you can't appreciate the light at the end of the tunnel without first journeying through the shadows. Love is only strengthened by hardship. I would never give you anything less.
> 
> Enjoy the story...

 

If the corridors of Hogwarts were interesting during the day, they were nothing short of breathtaking at night. The very walls shimmered faintly with the ethereal glow of residual magic. The shadows themselves seemed to hold things that just could not be there in the light, tricking the senses with hints that something was hiding in their darkest corners. Tonight, that just happened to be true.

Draco Malfoy cared nothing for the splendid scenery of Hogwarts at night. He had left the dungeons behind for a long-awaited mission, and the promise of sweet revenge. Earlier that day, at the end of potions class, he had managed to slip Potter's potions assignment out of the other boy's bag. The assignment was due the next day, and if Potter wanted any chance of passing the class, he would have to go looking for it. When he did, Draco would be waiting for him. It was so simple. So simple, yet so masterfully executed. Now, all he had to do was to wait.

He squinted through the shadows, searching for any sign of motion from the large portrait hanging serenely on the wall, dividing Gryffindor tower from the rest of Hogwarts. Straining his hearing, he could just make out the rhythm of the Fat Lady snoring softly in her frame. Other than that the only sound to be heard was the subdued thrumming of his own pulse in his ears.

Carefully balancing on his toes, steadying himself with one hand, Draco was fully alert. He had never been so thoroughly prepared for anything in his life. The potion he had administered to himself had negated his need for sleep; he could wait all night if necessary, and never falter. Being Snape's favorite student had its advantages, his favourite benefit being access to all the potions supplies. Hidden under his shirt was an unusual pendant his father had insisted he wear for this mission. It rendered all sorts of tracking charms completely useless, and should keep him completely hidden from magical detection until he and Potter were far from Hogwarts. In addition, his own skills and stealth should keep him hidden from any other means of detection. He reached down slowly and brushed his hand against the hilt of the small dagger tucked into the sheath on his belt, carefully concealed under his robes. The blade had been laced with a Freezing Potion of his own design. That brew had earned him top marks for his O.W.L.'s. Now, it would earn him Potter.

A sudden scraping noise caused him to blink, but otherwise elicited no further reaction. The portrait frame swung gently back and away from the wall with a high-pitched creak, causing the Fat lady to stir, but not wake. Slowly, the painting settled back into its place against the wall, even though it would appear to a casual onlooker that nobody had emerged.

Draco's smile became a little wider. So, Potter had his invisibility cloak. It made no difference to Draco; it helped him in fact. Potter would be feeling more confident, concealed as he was, and would naturally be less cautious. Careless prey is always easier to catch.

He heard the scuffling of shoes on the stone floor and the soft swishing of fabric in the still air. A good predator knows exactly when and where to strike. It's evolution; survival of the fittest. Knowing when to wait, when to frighten, when to run, and when to make the fatal blow. He would follow Potter to just the right place, and then strike he would. Potter was about to find himself falling to the bottom of the food chain.

Harry meanwhile, was running through a silent string of curses in his head. Finding himself short by a fair few, he ran through the choicest selections from the list again. He couldn't believe he had done it. Of _all_ the _stupid_ things, how could he have managed to lose his potions assignment? Of _all the subjects_ , and of _all the times_ , why did it have to be _Potions_ the day before it was due in? Even worse, this was only the first assignment of the year!

He would swear to anyone that he had put it in his bag at the end of class, but that evening, when he and Ron had dumped their books out in front of the fireplace to begin their homework, the parchment had been gone. It had taken him all week to write just those fourteen inches of script, and there was no way he could have rewritten it in one night. Hermione might have helped him with it, but instead she insisted that it would teach him to be responsible for his belongings if he were to deal with the situation for himself. So now, here he was. Hunting for bloody thing.

Harry turned at the end of the corridor to descend the staircases, nearly tripping over the edge of the first one. He added a few new choice words to his growing collection of curses.

Darkness had never bothered Harry. After spending most of his youth locked into a cramped cupboard without so much as a light bulb, he'd adapted to it. The shadows of the Hogwarts corridors at night were familiar territory to him, and he generally moved through them with the surety of a man on his own ground. However, frustration over his potions assignment and irritation at having to be away from the warmth of his own bed had left him a bit edgy. Tonight, he had the peculiar sense that something new was concealed in the dark corners. Almost as if something was breathing too close to him; eating into his territory, violating his space.

 _Stop that, Harry_ , he told himself. _You're going to become paranoid if you keep on like that. The Marauder's Map didn't show anyone in the corridor. There's nobody here. Just get to the dungeons, find the bloody parchment, and get back to bed._

Thoroughly focused on his mission and finding yet another curse to add to his growing mental tirade, he made his way down flights of stairs, through long corridors, and towards the dungeons. There was no sign of Filch or Mrs. Norris, Peeves or the Bloody Baron. Harry welcomed the silence, but then, so did Draco. The invisible man and his shadow.

Draco had followed Harry at a comfortable distance of thirty feet or so, carefully noting the exact location of each of Harry's footsteps; the even sound of his breathing. He stalked with trained precision, stepping toe-to-heel.

Down in the dungeons, Potter was out of his element, and Draco was in his most familiar territory. Draco knew each stone on the floor, every shadow, every doorway. In silent company, Harry and Draco passed the turn that would take them to the Slytherin dormitories, and continued in a straight path to the potions classrooms. There was little to nothing of any academic significance beyond Snape's dungeons. Those corridors had been abandoned years ago, but Draco had felt it wise to explore them. His explorations had led him to an old passageway, dusty with disuse. At the time, his ventures had seemed little more than an amusing pastime. Now this knowledge was going to prove its value.

The soft shuffle-scraping sounds of Potter's footsteps stopped in front of the door to Snape's classroom. Draco heard the cloak rustle and the heavy click of a locked handle as Potter tried the door of the room. _Of course it's going to be locked, you fool._ Potter's intelligence dropped a few points further in Draco's estimation.

However, the delay was all the cue Draco needed. He slunk along the wall opposite the door until he was directly behind Potter. So this is how a serpent feels when it sniffs out its prey, preparing to strike. His father would be so pleased if he could see him now. Finally, acting as more than a thorn in the lion's paw, he was about to score a much deeper blow. Draco would be accepted with honour into the ranks of the Death Eaters. Hardly daring to breathe lest he quell his chance, he drew up behind Potter.

Harry reached up and grasped the handle of the classroom door and gave it a pull. It didn't budge. He rattled it again, even though it was obviously locked. Pausing for a moment in annoyance, he fumbled through his robes for his wand. Harry heard a faint rustle behind him only a split second before something grabbed his cloak and whipped it from his body. He spun around in shock, instinctively bringing his arms up to shield himself.

"Malfoy!" he hissed.

Draco sneered at him. "Shouldn't be wandering around the corridors at night, Potter. You could get caught."

"And you have any more right to be here than me?" Harry snapped back. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Just a little Potions homework." Draco reached into a pocket, extracting a rumpled piece of parchment. "Look familiar?"

Through the dim glow of the corridor, Harry could make out his own haphazard script.

His mouth opened and closed a few times noiselessly, shocked and surprised, before he finally sputtered, "What are you doing with that? Don't you have other people you could waste your time bothering?"

Malfoy took a step in towards the smaller boy, pulling himself up to his most menacing stance. Harry could feel Malfoy's warm breath on his cheek. He tried to back away, suddenly feeling even more uncomfortable than he usually did around the Slytherin, but the wall was directly behind him. It suddenly occurred he was trapped, pinned between Malfoy and the wall. Malfoy smiled, and Harry decided then that it was the most unpleasant smile he had ever seen, save perhaps for Voldemort.

"Am I wasting my time, Potter?" he asked, a strange glint in his eye. "Really? I suppose I had best not waste any more, then."

Even if Harry had the space to duck away, he wouldn't have had time. Draco moved at lightning speed. Harry saw the flash of metal in Malfoy's hand only an instant before he felt the blade plunging into his shoulder.

The shock of it left him unable to cry out, but he gasped sharply. The steel felt like pure ice burrowed in his flesh. Grinning maliciously, Malfoy twisted the dagger before pulling it away, but the freezing sensation didn't disappear. In fact, it was spreading, fast.

The ice flooded through Harry's veins, down his arms, across his chest. "What did you…?" The ice had reached his neck, freezing the last words half-formed in his throat. He sagged to the floor as his legs went numb.

Malfoy stood over him, triumph written clearly across his face. "It's a special brew of my own, Potter. A fair bit beyond your skill. Too bad you never paid much attention in Potions. And oh, your assignment was terrible by the way."

He leaned down so that his face was inches from Harry's. His voice was deceptively soft. "Don't worry Potter. It won't kill you. The Dark Lord would be most displeased if I were to take _that_ pleasure from him. I told you I was going to make you pay."

Harry tried to yell, but everything was becoming hazy. His heartbeats slowed, and sounds echoed hollowly in his ears. He could barely force his chest to rise to take in the next breath. The ice gripped his heart and wrenched it sharply. With a last strangled gasp, Harry watched as the deep shadows of the corridor drew in tightly around him, smothering him, then fading completely to black.

Draco picked up Potter's limp arm and felt for a pulse. The beats were faint and nearly a whole ten seconds apart, but it was enough. With a nod of satisfaction, he slid the dagger back into its sheath and stuffed Potter's potions assignment into a pocket. He reached his hands under Potter's arms and pulled him towards the entrance to his secret passage. Draco found himself somewhat surprised at how light the boy was. Perhaps he wouldn't do Potter the favour of levitating him down the tunnel. He could drag the diminutive Gryffindor easily enough, and leaving pretty little Potter with a few minor bruises would be properly satisfying.

Draco had already told his father about his plan, and Lucius Malfoy would be waiting to meet him at the exit. If Draco had failed, there would have been punishment, but the risk had been worth it. His father would greet him with praise, and the Dark Lord himself would honour his success. He had accomplished a task which was the envy of all Voldemort's senior Death Eaters.

He, Draco Malfoy, had caught Harry Potter.

 


	2. Lessons in Power

_I've built walls,  
A fortress deep and mighty,  
That none may penetrate.  
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.  
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain.  
I am a rock,  
I am an island._ _  
__(~Simon and Garfunkel)_

_  
_

Draco had only been in the dungeons under Malfoy Manor a few times in his life. The first time, he'd been eight years old. His father had decided he was old enough to be brought on a grand tour of the place, weaving tales of Aurors that had been held there and Mudbloods they had tortured during the height of the Dark Lord's influence as he went. It was then that Draco had received his first small lesson in power; what it was and why it was so important. The power to control people, the power over life and death; Draco saw and began to understand these things. In that dungeon, Lucius Malfoy owned people's lives. In that dungeon, Draco had begun to learn the value of power.

The second time Draco had seen those dungeons had not been so pleasant. It had been another lesson in power, though the moral of the tale was very different. On that occasion, Draco had learned the lesson from the other side of the cell bars. Draco had been eleven years of age when he had tried to sneak into his father's drawing room, planning to steal a few select items from the cache under the floor there, whilst his parents played gracious hosts at one of their world-renowned, glittering dinner parties. He had wanted to bring something, anything, to school with him to show off to his friends and increase his own influence and power. He knew better than to disobey his father, but the temptation had been too great. Of course, he had triggered the room's protective charms and wards, which had brought his father bearing down on him immediately.

Lucius Malfoy had been neither sympathetic nor vindictive as he had chained Draco to the dungeon wall, and Draco had not cried aloud. Emotion was for the weak. This was a punishment, and a fair punishment at that; both father and son knew it. As he had locked the cell door for the night, Lucius had said simply, "You don't take power like that, Draco. You have to earn it. Now, you will have to pay for it." When the doors to the dungeons had slammed shut, leaving Draco alone for his night of contemplation, he had finally broken down, tears streaming freely where nobody could see him. His father, whose dealings with both friend and foe had been laced with deviousness and greed, had pressed a hypocritical lesson on a mind which was far too young for such things. In many ways, it was a harder Draco who emerged the next morning, and perhaps that had been Lucius Malfoy's intention. Thus had his father shown him what it was like for someone to have power over him.

Now, all these years later, looking through the bars of the same cell at the limp, dark-haired figure lying on the floor, Draco felt that elusive thing called power. This time, he had earned it.

Draco allowed himself a small smile as his father fastened the lock on the cell door.

Lucius Malfoy turned to Draco with a flourish and caught that small smile. For perhaps the first time he stood and truly saw his son, mentally appraising him. Draco had indeed learned his lessons well, and now he had brought even more honour to the Malfoy name. He was a worthy child. A strong heir. Lucius' face unconsciously echoed Draco's satisfied smirk.

"Draco, this will please the Dark Lord immeasurably. He was not entirely convinced that your plan would succeed, but you certainly made a very elegant job of it. Simple, yet cunning. Salazar Slytherin himself would have been proud." He held out a hand. "May I see that dagger?"

"Yes, father." Draco knew it to be command more than question, and obediently withdrew the blade, turning it to his father, handle first. He knew when to speak and when to hold his tongue, so he stood in respectful silence as his father examined the small blade. It was still coated in dry blood.

Lucius turned it carefully over in his gloved hands, murmuring to himself as he examined the piece. "Very impressive. To think, all it took to bring down the unstoppable Harry Potter, after all this time, was this." He ran his fingertips along the flat of the blade, some flecks of blood sticking to the glove. His face was contemplative as he rubbed his finger and thumb together, letting flakes of the blood drop to the floor. "And this… the thing the Dark Lord has sought for so long. This time, it will be completed."

He handed the dagger back to Draco. "I must contact my master and inform him of your success. If he is as pleased as I expect, you will soon have the privilege of calling him 'master' as well." He flicked his eyes briefly towards the prostrate form in the cell. "Stay here and keep an eye on him. Potter may look helpless, but he's been inordinately lucky his entire life. We should take no chances."

Draco bowed his head slightly. "Yes, father."

Without another word, Lucius Malfoy spun around on his heel, and strode towards the stairs leading from the dungeons.

Draco congratulated himself silently. That was as much outward praise as his father had ever shown, and he had rightfully earned it. His father was proud of him today, and that pride was best displayed with decorum and class. Even in matters of a positive nature, Malfoys did not lower themselves to empty displays of emotion. It would be a sign of weakness, just as tears would be. Weak, just like that little slip of a boy lying in the cell.

Draco turned and leaned against the wall, just outside the bars of the cell, observing Potter at his leisure through the gaps. The Gryffindor was lying awkwardly on one side, exactly where Draco had dropped him upon arrival. His face was paler than usual, and his lips had an unnatural bluish hue. Draco narrowed his eyes and carefully observed the faint rise and fall of Potter's chest. The boy was still alive. The pallor was just a side-effect of the potion, and would wear off soon.

With his eyes closed, Potter appeared almost peaceful in his oblivion. Soft lines and gentle curves spoke of youth and naivety, and belied the horrible things the boy had experienced in his life. Without his glasses, something about Potter's face had a different quality, as though a mask had been removed, taking with it the image of the Boy Who Lived, and leaving merely an innocent boy in its place. It also left Draco staring, inexplicably captivated. For a moment, he almost found it difficult to remember that this was the face of his enemy.

Draco shook his head to clear it. That was the face of the boy who had snubbed his outstretched hand on the first day of school, choosing instead the company of the dregs of wizarding society. That childlike face had smirked in triumph at far too many Quidditch games, as Draco left the field empty-handed. That face had graced the covers of the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly, while the name "Harry Potter" had been on the lips of every witch or wizard across Britain, if not the entire world. That was a face which had haunted Draco for far too long.

Now it was the face of weakness, Draco told himself staunchly. Potter was behind the bars, and Draco was on the outside, looking in. The haughty Gryffindor was unconscious, in a cell under Malfoy Manor, under Draco's power.

Power over life and death; it was almost intoxicating, addictive. Apparently, the more you loathed your enemy, the more intense the feeling. All the things he had wanted to say to Potter, and now he had the perfect opportunity. Here, Potter couldn't go running to Dumbledore. His little Muggle-loving, Mudblood friends weren't here to help him now. Here, he was alone.

Draco watched the almost imperceptible rhythm of the boy's breathing, carefully tracking it for some slight change. Anyone but Draco might not have noticed the first tiny twitch of an eyelid, the slight stirrings of limbs, the trembling of the other boy's lower lip. As though in slow motion, Potter's face scrunched up in an expression of agony. Draco leaned forward for a better view, folding his arms across his chest. The potion was wearing off.

 _Cold . . . so cold._ _Must have kicked off the blankets. Too cold. Terrible nightmare . . . Malfoy. Malfoy attacked me. It's too cold in here. Why can't I move? Frozen . . ._

Harry tried to force his eyes open, only to be rewarded by stinging prickles of pain racing across his face. He tried to recoil, which only increased the sensation. Gradually, the sharp bite of pins and needles spread across every inch of his body, as though reviving after circulation had been stopped for far too long.

Eyes tightly shut, he gritted his teeth and held every muscle tense, trying to block out the possibility of making the pain any worse. He rode it out, unable to think past the pins and needles. His mind was still far too numb for the effort that would require. After an immeasurable length of time, the prickling dulled to the point where he could allow himself to move. With a shudder, Harry sagged against the floor, gasping desperately for breath.

The surface under his cheek grated against his skin. Cold and rough pebbles, digging small channels into his soft flesh. He cautiously reached out and spread his palm against the floor. This was most certainly not his bed. Nor did this feel like the floor beside it. With a leap of mental terror, his heart stuck in his throat. It barely seemed possible but… the last few hours hadn't been a nightmare.

He cautiously pried his eyelids open, dreading what he might see. The floor beneath him was composed of rough stone, lightly strewn with gravel and sand. Beyond that, he could make out heavy bars, starkly silhouetted by a few torches lining the walls. Bars... so he'd been captured. He couldn't see much else. Everything was blurred beyond the stones and gravel within a foot of his face. A second wave of panic threatened him as he realized his glasses were gone.

With a groan, he pushed himself to his knees. His shoulder was throbbing where Malfoy had stabbed him. Blood roared through his ears, threatening his tenuous hold on consciousness, and he tipped his head forward into his hands, begging for it to subside. Beyond the rushing sounds, he heard a voice that nearly made his frigid blood boil.

"Did you have a nice nap, Potter?" the voice drawled.

Harry forced his head up and turned towards the sound of the voice. He'd completely missed the irregular silhouette of a body tucked neatly against the other side of the bars, and now he wished he'd never noticed it at all. Although he couldn't see the other person's features, and the blood was still pounding through his ears, he'd recognize that drawl anywhere. "Malfoy," he spat in reply.

"That's right, Potter." The blurred shape pushed closer to the bars, leaning up against them. "Didn't the professors always warn you not to wander around the school at night? But no, the great Harry Potter is above the rules."

"You stole my bloody Potions assignment, you bastard," Harry snarled, still trying to regain some strength in his legs.

"A minor detail. You could have rewritten it." Malfoy pulled something out of his pocket and waved it through the bars. Harry recognized the cracking sound of wrinkled parchment. "You _should_ have rewritten it. I'm surprised you managed to pass your Potions OWL with the crap you hand in."

"Well, maybe I should have asked for your help, seeing as you're such an expert." Sarcasm dripped from each of Harry's words.

"Attitude isn't going to help you, Potter." Draco tucked the parchment back into his robes lazily. "But of course, you're the famous Harry Potter. Too big to ask for help. Certainly too big to follow the guidelines everyone laid down to protect you. Now look where it's got you. Dumbledore's not here to hold your hand anymore, Potter."

" _I_ need someone to hold _my_ hand?" Potter asked incredulously, his disgust in the statement evident. Even doubled over on the floor as he was, the conviction and spite in his tone was enough to make Draco cringe slightly. "You hid behind Crabbe and Goyle for years, you hid behind Umbridge, and now here you are, clinging to your father's robes. He bought your way onto the Quidditch team, is he buying your way up the ranks with the Death Eaters now too?"

Draco was grateful that Potter couldn't see his face right then, because if he had, he would have seen the sting of that comment written clearly in his captor's expression. However, Draco was quick to reassume his carefully poised manner, outwardly ignoring the comment about the Quidditch team. "Oh, I'm earning my keep with the Dark Lord for myself," he drawled smugly. "You were the key. Of course, father's influence has been beneficial. Too bad all your parents ever did for you was get themselves killed and put you firmly on the top of the Dark Lord's shit list."

Fury sent Harry lunging at the bars, hand outstretched for Malfoy's neck. "YOU!"

Harry just missed the edge of Draco's cloak, as the blond boy jumped backwards in surprise. Harry's arm was thrust through the bars up to his shoulder while the other hand clenched one bar, white-knuckled. His breath hissed audibly through gritted and bared teeth, but it was the eyes that caught Draco off-guard.

Draco had never actually seen Potter without his glasses before. Even under normal circumstances, behind the dull glare of the lenses, his eyes had always shone with a peculiar intensity which Draco found disconcerting. His mind flashed to the minor disaster during his Charms OWL, when Potter's gaze had caused him to lose control of his Levitation Charm, and his wine glass had shattered. Nobody else would have been able to cause him to falter like that; nobody else could cause his emotions to flare violently like Potter did. However, if that had been disconcerting, this was a hundred times worse. Now, that fierce emerald gaze drilled straight into his own eyes, blazing with anger, pain, and – something else that Draco couldn't quite decipher, and he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to. Whatever it was, Draco felt his own heartbeat freeze momentarily in his chest.

Their eyes stayed locked, barely an arm's length apart, and for a split second Draco could taste a hint of fear on the tip of his tongue. It was insane. Potter was behind the bars, without his wand, without even his glasses. He was helpless. Yet if that were true, then why did Draco feel at that moment that the Gryffindor was more in control than he was?

Draco finally tore his eyes away, thoroughly shaken. Potter was under _his_ control, _his_ prisoner. He couldn't let the balance of power change like that again. He had to keep the upper hand next time. And there would be a next time. Potter always had a talent for getting under his skin, but here in the Malfoy dungeons, that sort of thing was simply unacceptable. When he turned back towards the cell, he found that Potter had withdrawn his arm and was now gripping the bars with both hands. His slender wrists seemed almost stronger than the metal bars, and Draco had to remind himself that the cell was magically reinforced. The boy's face was still pushed between the bars in defiance, hair standing in every direction, appearing for all the world like a wild creature that should never have been captured and would never be tamed.

"You leave my mum and dad out of this." Harry kept his voice deceptively calm, refusing to lower himself to further outbursts. That would be exactly what Malfoy wanted. "If you have an issue with me, deal with me."

Malfoy opened his mouth as though searching for a comeback when the heavy clacking of heeled boots drew both boys' attention.

"Draco?" Lucius Malfoy emerged into the passageway. "Draco, I do hope you are conducting yourself properly down here?" He appraised Harry. "Mr. Potter, so nice of you to have joined us."

Harry dropped his hands away from the bars, but carefully held eye contact with the older wizard. If he was surprised by Lucius' appearance, he hid it well. "You're supposed to be in Azkaban."

"You really thought they'd be able to keep me there for long, Potter? Oh no, boy. I have powerful friends. You would have done well to remember that before interfering in things you can't possibly handle."

"It's not as though I've had much of a choice." Harry glanced around, even though he really couldn't see much without his glasses. "Where am I?"

"This," Mr. Malfoy spread his hands invitingly, with just a hint of the grandiose, "is my humble home. Well, the lower regions of it, more specifically. I apologize for the accommodations, of course, but we suspected that you might not take too kindly to our invitation, and might decide to leave before it was polite to do so."

The oily tone of Mr. Malfoy's voice was more appalling than a blatant insult. Harry resisted the impulse to gag at the words, but his nose wrinkled up in distaste. "And just how long do you plan to keep me here?"

"Ah, that's the question, isn't it?" A twisted smile played across Lucius' lips. "As you know, my master has some unfinished business with you. He may have regained his physical form, but you have something else he desires. A decade and a half ago, some of his power transferred to you. Had he killed you the night he was restored to his physical form, he would have regained much of it. Unfortunately, you seem to have an uncanny attraction for luck."

Harry snorted. "Right. I'm rolling in fate and fortune."

Mr. Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. As fate would have it, an opportunity which was unavailable at that time has now presented itself. In a few short weeks, there will be a full lunar eclipse. Such astronomical events are times of high magical potential, Mr. Potter. It was an event far too... useful, to miss."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Astronomy. Why hadn't he paid more attention in Sinistra's class?

Mr. Malfoy let out something that loosely resembled a short laugh. "I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise, Mr. Potter. The Dark Lord himself will be more than willing to explain it to you. He's rather pleased with this event, as are we all."

Harry's head spun. There appeared to be no way out. Voldemort had obviously planned some disturbingly heinous way to kill him. Better yet, he was Malfoy's house guest. Well, house might be pushing it some. Could the day get any better? He blinked against the haze over his eyes. "Give me my glasses," he said flatly.

Mr. Malfoy feigned surprise. "Draco! Where are your manners? Give young Mr. Potter here his glasses. A Malfoy is always gracious, remember that."

"Yes, father." Draco reached onto a small shelf cut into the stone wall and retrieved the glasses. They had been slightly bent during the abduction, but they were still quite usable. Staying as far back as possible, as though feeding a dangerous animal at the zoo, he reached over and offered the glasses to Potter.

Potter's hand came whipping through the bars and snatched the glasses from Draco's fingers faster than he could blink. Quidditch reflexes. Potter really _was_ born to be a Seeker. Draco wasn't, and that simple fact disgusted him no end. Whether he was disgusted with Potter or with himself – well, he'd never quite been able to answer that question.

Harry jammed the glasses back on, and glared back at Draco, then Lucius.

"Now Potter, where are your manners?" Lucius Malfoy asked with mock horror. "It's proper to say 'thank you' when someone does you a favour."

"I have nothing to thank you for." Potter's tone was icy.

"Oh, but you do. You're still alive, and relatively undamaged, are you not? And I stress that all these things are relative."

"Sure," Potter tipped his head up. "If you call poisoning and a stab wound 'undamaged,' I'm just peachy."

Draco only then noticed that Potter had been favouring his left shoulder the entire time. He hid the injury well. Draco was almost impressed.

"Come now, Potter." Mr. Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "All I ask is a little gratitude. That's surely not so difficult."

The corner of Draco's mouth curled up in a slight smile. His father was toying with Potter. This should be amusing. It would make a change from his toying with Draco, at least.

The dark-haired Gryffindor pressed his lips shut in defiance.

"I told you to say 'thank you'," Lucius hissed. With one swift motion, he whipped out his wand and leveled it at Potter. " _Imperio_ _!"_

Outside of Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, this was the nearest to hand Draco had ever seen one of the Unforgivable Curses used. The suddenness of his father's action startled him, but still, he took a small step forward to observe more closely. After all, this wasn't an everyday occurrence.

Behind the smudged lenses of his glasses, Potter's eyes lost focus, and his face became blank. He teetered unsteadily on his feet briefly. Slowly, he opened his mouth to speak, and Draco waited expectantly for the hollow "thank you". It never came.

Potter's mouth snapped shut and he squeezed his eyes tightly closed as though blocking out a bright light. He tipped his head forward and shook it as if trying to dislodge something from within his ears. When he raised his head again, his eyes were clear. "You know, Voldemort tried that too. You were there. If it didn't work for him, what makes you think it would work for you?"

Draco was shocked. Potter had not only thrown off the curse, he had also insinuated that the Dark Lord himself had tried the same thing, and had likewise failed. Draco's only relief was that Potter was staring at his father and not at him. Lucius Malfoy, too, was visibly ruffled. Covering it quickly with a grimace, he snarled back, "You'll learn some respect in time, Potter, but it doesn't much matter. It'll all end the same way. You're a fool, but I suppose you can't help that. It's inherent to your surname."

"Go to hell."

"I think not," Lucius sniffed, "but you'll be taking your holiday there soon enough." He quickly turned a cold shoulder to his captive, facing Draco squarely instead. "Now Draco, the master shall be arriving late tomorrow to examine our guest. In the meantime, he has given you a particular task, and a great honour. As the person who caught Mr. Potter, the Dark Lord feels it fitting that you should also be the person to guard him. We wish to take no chances. Do you understand the importance of this task?"

Draco met his father's gaze and saw the cold pride written there. He flicked his eyes at the boy standing quietly in the cell not three meters away. He thought of the blazing ferocity in Potter's eyes, the defiance, and most particularly, the way he had thrown of the Imperius Curse as though it were nothing more than a cloak with a tricky clasp. Potter was not to be underestimated, but Draco felt more than certain he was up to the task. The smaller boy was unarmed and imprisoned, and, after all, was Draco a Malfoy or not? "Yes, father. Potter isn't going anywhere."

"Excellent," Lucius proclaimed with a sharp nod. "I'll have one of the house-elves bring down food and bedding for you." He hesitated, then pulled the corners of his mouth into something vaguely resembling a smile. "I'm proud of you, Draco."

And with that, he left. Draco watched him go, mouth hanging slightly open in shock at the unexpectedly lavish praise.

"You really did such a very proud thing, Malfoy. Sneaking up on an unarmed classmate and stabbing him. How very noble of you."

Draco gaped at Potter, who was now standing with his arms folded across his chest, mocking him. The Dark Lord himself had failed to kill Potter on several occasions. Death Eaters whose plans for Potter's capture failed often forfeited their lives to Voldemort. Draco had been the person who had finally succeeded in that apparently impossible task, and in one statement, Potter had reduced its significance to nothing more than a cheap prank.

Draco felt his face flush. How did this boy manage to infuriate him so easily? "You're in a bloody fine position to talk. You're just lucky I didn't decide to finish you off myself."

"You couldn't have." Potter sounded quite sure of himself.

"Only because I had to bring you back alive."

"That's not what I mean." Those vivid green eyes leveled themselves at Draco, who found himself blinking involuntarily.

"Then what exactly _do_ you mean, Potter? Do you think I actually give a rat's arse about you?" What was Potter playing at?

"No."

"Think there's some sort of 'inner good' in me?" This was starting to become damned uncomfortable.

Potter scoffed, "No."

Draco could feel his heart thudding nervously. "Well then, what are you getting at?"

"I don't think you're strong enough to kill me yourself."

Potter turned his back on Draco and made himself busy finding a spot for the night. It was a good thing he did turn away, because Draco's stomach had coincidentally chosen that moment to twist itself into a knot. How dare he? _How dare_. . .

"Don't push it, Potter. You're just tempting fate, and you really don't want to make things harder on yourself than they already are," Draco shot at him, but the comment was lacking its usual edge.

Harry glanced briefly back over his shoulder. He'd heard the slight shift in Malfoy's voice, and he liked it. "Voldemort is trying to kill me. Again. I'm not too worried about anything you're going to do."

He returned his attention to his inspection of the floor, but he could still feel Malfoy's eyes on the back of his neck. The Slytherin's presence in such close quarters made him just a little bit edgy. Alright, so he was uncomfortable with it. No, it bloody bugged the hell out of him. Forget that Voldemort would be paying him a visit in a few short hours to divulge his diabolical plan for Harry's demise. Those hours would be spent in the same room as Draco Malfoy. Somehow, that almost seemed the worse of the two. "Goodnight, Malfoy."

Harry didn't need to peek again to be certain that Malfoy was furious at being casually brushed aside. The lack of verbal response was enough to confirm it. He knew Malfoy well enough to anticipate the boy's reactions, just as Malfoy seemed to know at least a bit about him. All Harry had to do was to stay one step ahead, keep Malfoy irritated to the point of distraction, continue pushing the other boy's buttons, and hopefully he could find a way out. Malfoy was probably more than ready to devote all his time to driving Harry mad. It shouldn't be too difficult to turn the tables.

The floor was cold and hard, but it was welcoming enough. Apparently the poison had taken more out of him than he'd realized, leaving him lightheaded and somewhat nauseated. He tucked his left arm carefully against his body and drew his knees towards his chin with his right arm, all the while keeping his shoulder turned towards the bars. He didn't want Malfoy to see his face. Somehow, if he kept that hidden, it would almost feel like a touch of privacy.

A sharp cracking noise almost caused Harry to relinquish that tiny shred of seclusion, but he held his ground, awaiting the next audio clue.

"Master Malfoy, sir, your father is sending Biddy here with young Master Malfoy's things." A house-elf's high pitched squeak greeted his ears.

"Put the chair and blanket down there." Malfoy's voice was flat and impassive.

"Where is Master Malfoy wanting his tea, sir? Mistress Malfoy is not wanting young Master to catch cold."

"Just put it down next to the chair."

There was a soft clinking of dishware, then a pause. "Aren't you going now?" Malfoy spat at Biddy.

The house-elf squeaked, "Master Malfoy, sir, Biddy is wondering . . . is that Harry Potter?" The elf's voice was bursting with poorly hidden awe.

"I said go!" Malfoy yelled.

Harry heard a heavy, sickening thud and knew that Malfoy had just landed the pitiful elf a kick. Vivid memories of Lucius Malfoy's hideous treatment of Dobby broke to the surface of Harry's thoughts. Ignoring his body's protests, he dragged himself to his feet and threw himself against the bars. "You lay off her, Malfoy!"

Startled by the outburst from his previously subdued prisoner, Draco nearly forgot about Biddy, who was slowly picking herself up from the ground. "What did you tell me to do?"

"I said 'lay off her'."

"Why should I? She's a house-elf. She's not supposed to go about asking questions of her masters, sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. It's not for her to question me in anything."

"And so her 'masters' have to prove they're in control by beating up defenseless house-elves?"

"A house-elf must be totally loyal. That's its job," Draco sniffed.

"I always figured it was better to earn loyalty than to beat it out of a person."

Draco's mouth was already open, preparing to dish out the next retort, but his voice choked in his throat. His father's voice echoed through his head like some sort of Pavlovian mantra. _You have to earn it. Earn it. You can't just take it. You have to earn it_. Those words had danced circles in his head for hours the night his father had left him there, and he'd never forgotten. His eyes wandered over Potter's shoulder to the chains hanging unused from the cell wall. He subconsciously rubbed his wrist, remembering the cold metal that had cut them all night, leaving ghastly red marks. _You have to earn it._

"House-elves aren't people," Draco said flatly, but his words sounded hollow in his ears. "They owe their loyalty to the family that takes them in. They have to learn their place, the hard way if necessary. They would actually prefer for you to punish them, rather than have you give them clothes."

Harry mouth turned down in a very unconvinced frown. "So you kick them around like vermin, or force them to punish themselves? I thought Malfoys were always gracious."

"Well, sometimes we merely lock them in a cupboard for a couple of days, or in the dungeons, or we don't permit them to eat."

As many times as Draco had seen a house-elf being punished, and had even inflicted the punishments himself, he'd never actually put it to words. Standing under Potter's harsh scrutiny, in a place where he, himself, had been punished, it sounded absolutely brutal. Barbaric. Not the gracious, distinguished behaviour of a Malfoy. He had never considered quite that way – no. That was nonsense. His father had taught him better. He was not going to let Potter's sanctimonious speech get to him.

Draco fixed a scowl on his face in a vain attempt to keep Potter from seeing his reaction, but the other boy wasn't even bothering to look at him. Potter's face had gone a shade paler, and he seemed to be wavering on his feet a little.

Harry swallowed as the sick feeling in his stomach from the poison had intensified at least tenfold. He tried to ignore it, but he was so tired that Malfoy's description of the milder forms of house-elf punishment quickly brought vivid memories boiling to the surface, and he was unable to push them away. He could almost feel Uncle Vernon's meaty hand clenching his shirt at the nape of his neck, shoving him roughly into his cupboard. He could hear the harsh voice bellowing in his ear, _"... and no meals for a week!_ " And then the sound of the cupboard door slamming shut behind him.

The Malfoys were no better than the Dursleys, and ironically, they were each the one thing the other most despised in the world. Did the Malfoys see the same punishments as being suited to people? Probably, but not for actual members of their family. House-elves, nephews, and blood enemies, lock them away and force them into submission. At least this dungeon, unlike his cupboard, gave him space to stretch out his legs. Quickly berating himself for even beginning to consider the merits of the Malfoy dungeons, Harry shook his head to clear it.

Malfoy was regarding him oddly. "What's the matter with you?"

It was the usual Malfoy drawl, to be sure, but there was a strange lift to his voice; he was curious. Well, if Malfoy wanted to know something, why on earth should Harry give him the pleasure? "Sod off, Malfoy."

Harry heard no attempt at a response as he made his way back to his spot on the floor. Every part of him hurt now, even the pieces you couldn't find on any anatomy chart. He just wanted to curl up and let this wretched awareness disappear. He couldn't let Malfoy see him in pain; wouldn't let himself show any sign of weakness. With no help at hand, completely alone, he needed to stay strong. It was all he had, and it was his only chance to get out of there alive.

Suppressing a grunt of pain, he settled himself back into a tight, fetal ball, his injured arm cradled in his lap, wishing against all odds that he would wake up back in Gryffindor Tower and this would all have been one very strange nightmare.

 

*********

_And a rock feels no pain;  
And an island never cries._

 


	3. Bitter Tea

_I don't know when I noticed life was life at my expense._ _  
The words of my heart lined up like prisoners on a fence._ _  
The dreams came in like needy children tugging at my sleeve.  
_ _I said I have no way of feeding you, so leave._

_(~Indigo Girls)_

_  
_

Draco watched the still form of Harry Potter, curled up against the wall of the cell, and shivered. The dungeons were cold. That was just the way things were, but it didn't mean that Draco had to like it. He tucked his feet underneath him on the chair and pulled his blankets in tighter. It had been a long night, and it wasn't over yet.

His tea had gone cold hours ago, left untouched on the floor by his feet. His mother had always refused to let him sweeten it (sweetened tea being simply not proper), and despite its fragrant aroma, Draco had never appreciated its bitter edge. Besides, he would have much preferred a stronger beverage to keep him warm – one that would have drowned out the ridiculous thoughts that kept swimming unchecked through his head.

For a fleeting instant (in a fit of momentary insanity, to be precise), he'd almost slipped and uttered an apology to Biddy, before she'd disappeared from the dungeons. He, Draco Malfoy, apologize to a house-elf? Preposterous! But worse still, Potter had instigated the whole thing, only to turn his back on Draco and curl up apparently sound asleep on the floor.

Nobody turned their back to a Malfoy, and here was Potter, calmly doing just that, like there was nothing to worry him in the world. Draco considered turning his wand on the obnoxious captive, but to what end? Torture him? For some reason, the idea had lost its appeal. Control him? Apparently that wasn't going to work. No, he wanted to beat Potter at his own game.

No matter what the situation, Potter had always managed to come out on top. Oh, it wasn't just Quidditch. There was the House Cup, the Triwizard Tournament, media coverage, fame and fortune... it was enough to make Draco sick. Now that fluke of a boy, asleep on the cold dungeon floor, was winning in a game of wits.

Draco set his jaw firmly. No, this was only the first round. There would be plenty of time to turn the tide of this contest. He just couldn't let Potter get to him. He certainly wasn't going to dwell on it. But that was exactly what he was doing, and he knew it.

Draco shifted in his seat, turning his back so that he couldn't see Potter and the cell.

Potter couldn't possibly know the effect his comment about "earning loyalty" was having on Draco. As a Malfoy, he had spent his entire life trying to earn respect, prestige, and most importantly, power. Loyalty was merely the logical consequence of those attributes, not a quality that stood on its own. His father's loyalty to the Dark Lord, his own loyalty to his father; loyalty was simply given to the person with the most power.

Power. That's what it was all about. The final goal. It was the last step, of course, requiring time, cunning, and knowing the right people. It was a remote aspiration for Draco when he was younger, so respect had become his intermediate goal. He had sought it from his friends, his professors, and mostly, from his father. Crabbe and Goyle had been easy enough. Show those goons a card trick, and they would worship you like the second coming of Merlin. Professors were a bit more difficult. He had always earned top marks in his classes, particularly Potions; but with Mudblood lovers like Dumbledore running the place, the Malfoy name didn't hold the clout it once had. Draco had managed to royally embarrass himself on occasion, had gotten in trouble with a number of professors, and every single time, it had had something to do with Potter. Detention in the Dark Forest, tangles with hippogriffs, and painful moments as a flying ferret – all of it was courtesy of Potter, one way or another.

Naturally, whenever Potter inadvertently instigated something like that, his father made it known just how displeased he was. It wasn't easy for anybody to earn respect from Lucius Malfoy. The task became even more difficult when he was your father. Draco had never quite been good enough, never quite been able to move fast enough, although there was nothing he wanted more. Gods that be, he swore that the harder he tried, the more he fell short of his father's expectations. As the only Malfoy heir, he had a reputation to uphold. He had a destiny to fulfill. Only great things could come from a name like Draco Malfoy.

He came so close, too.

His father had been pleased with Draco's report card at the end of his first year. Pleased, that was, until he had heard about Mudblood Granger's marks. Draco had watched in shame as his father had removed his report parchment from its frame over the mantle and reduced it to ashes with a flick of his wand. Edged out by a Mudblood. It was humiliating. It was disgraceful. It was not the place of a Malfoy.

It was nowhere near as bad as the after-effects of his first Quidditch match though.

_"Now, Draco, this is the finest broom money can buy. I will not have my son displaying himself on anything but the best broom, nor do I expect anything but the best from his performance. "_

Clearly his performance had not measured up to his father's expectations. He'd been too distracted with antagonizing Potter to notice the Snitch hovering just above his shoulder. Not only that, but Potter had beaten him with a broken arm. Everyone had fawned over the little hero, while Marcus Flint dragged Draco aside to hurl insults that would have made a troll blush. Despite the severity of that embarrassment, the letter from his father had been much worse. His eagle owl had arrived the following morning with a letter that read simply, _"I am displeased."_

So Draco had focused on next year. The next time around, he wouldn't let Potter distract him. Eye on the Snitch, and he was sure to win. Oh, that had been a lovely thought while it lasted.

The following year, Potter had burst onto the field atop a Firebolt. Draco had relived the last few seconds of that game over and over in his head ever since. He'd been so far ahead of Potter, closing in on the Snitch. There had been nothing between him and his golden prize... until Potter had come racing past him, faster than Draco had thought possible. His hand had been mere inches from the Snitch when the Gryffindor Seeker had batted him out of the way and claimed the tiny sphere, and the Quidditch Cup, for Gryffindor.

It was maddening. The only reason that could have happened was because perfect Potter had a better broom. Therefore, all Draco needed to do was ask his father for a Firebolt, right?

He couldn't have been more wrong. His father's eyes had been daggers of steel, tearing Draco to shreds as effectively as his words.

_"Draco, you didn't even prove yourself worthy of the last broom. Now, you want to excuse your incompetence by blaming the fine broomstick I bought you last year?"_

_"No, father!_ _It's just that I . . ."_

 _"Silence._ _Stop making excuses. You were unable to beat Potter when you had the superior broomstick, so I see no reason to give you another superior broom now. You have to earn it."_

It all came back to that, didn't it?

Well, this time he'd earned it, hadn't he? Tonight, Draco should have been reveling in the victory he had earned. The bane of his existence was held securely in a cell in the Malfoy dungeons, and Draco had put him there. His father… His father had actually been proud of him. He'd said so. Tomorrow the Dark Lord would bestow honour on the Malfoy name, and all to Draco's credit. So why the hell did Draco feel like he couldn't look himself in the eye just then?

It was all due to the same cause, his grief: the boy who was sleeping in the cell, not more than twelve feet away, oblivious to the world.

The sweet sound of Lucius Malfoy's _"I'm so proud of you, Draco,"_ had been thoroughly drowned out by Potter's sarcastic undercut, _"How very noble of you."_ Why should Potter's words resound more vividly through his mind than the long-sought words from his own father? Bloody Merlin's beard; if it hadn't been for the Dark Lord's express wish to have the boy alive, he would have killed the insufferable little scar-head himself.

Draco would have run the poison-laced blade across Potter's slender throat instead of just puncturing his shoulder like a harmless bee sting. He would have stood there, and laughed at the glory of watching Potter's blood seeping out across his skin, drenching his jumper and pooling on the floor. Relished in the ways it puddled, memorized the exact shade of deep crimson red. It would have been a sweet revenge indeed to smell the metallic tang of Potter's life force seeping through his fingers like sand. He would have reached down and wiped the blade on Potter's sleeve, placing that final smudge of blood to stand as testimony to his victory, and watched as the final ebbing of life drained from Potter's body. He would stare down into the terrified eyes in triumph and...

Draco glanced down at his splayed fingers and the flattened palms of his hands, lying in his lap. They were shaking. That was just it, wasn't it? Now, thinking about it, he really wasn't so sure he could have done it. The mission had been a success precisely because the responsibility was minor and the rewards great. But what if the mission had been to kill? He hadn't actually considered the possibility, not really, until Potter had thrown the challenge in his face, bold and defiant.

_"I don't think you're strong enough to kill me yourself."_

Could he? Could Draco take the dagger to Potter's throat? If he'd been told to, could he have actually poisoned Potter instead of merely stunning him? Could he honestly stare down the length of his wand, directly into Potter's piercing green eyes, and say, out loud, _"Avada Kedavra" ?_

Draco tipped his head forward into his trembling hands and dug his fingers into his face. More than anything, he wanted to be able to answer those questions with a resounding "yes", but he had seen something burning in those eyes, something alive, something very human. You don't think of your enemy as another person, but merely as a means to an end. Could he have killed Potter? He didn't know anymore. He just didn't know.

Harry had certainly tried to sleep in spite of his physical discomfort, but every time he'd come close, another alarming thought had raced through his brain, jolting him awake. It would have been so much easier to have simply let the world fade away, but it was too late for that. Reality had finally struck him, irreversibly. The realization of his situation had left him in too much shock to move. He didn't want to think, but his mind was churning around in circles. Like everything else, it was thoroughly beyond his control. Perhaps it was due to the presence of his captor, but most of Harry's disturbing thoughts centered on the blond boy on the other side of the bars. Given that he was about to face the most powerful evil wizard of the age – again – it was a strange time for him to be brooding about the schoolyard bully.

Still, that was exactly what Harry was doing. If it hadn't been for that slimy little ferret, he would be curled up soundly in his four-poster bed back in Gryffindor Tower, with no more worries than his Potions assignment. He wouldn't be freezing his arse off on a cold dungeon floor. His shoulder wouldn't be throbbing with an ever-increasing ache where Malfoy had stabbed him. His mind certainly wouldn't be digging trenches in his subconscious.

Harry was almost afraid to pull back his robe to check how bad the damage to his shoulder was. It certainly wasn't going to be pretty, but in retrospect, he realized that it could easily have been a great deal worse. _Much_ worse.

What if, in his need for vengeance and conquering hatred, Malfoy had taken the knife to Harry's throat instead? It was possible. People like Malfoy didn't need strength to kill. It was simply a part of their nature. People weren't flesh-and-blood human beings to them. They were obstacles blocking the opening before the final goal.

Harry had only insinuated that Malfoy couldn't have killed him because he knew it could never happen, and that simple fact would serve to infuriate Malfoy to no end. Not that the bastard couldn't have done it if he'd had the chance; Harry was quite sure Malfoy would have had no trouble stabbing him in the back, literally. No, Malfoy just wouldn't get the chance to prove he could kill Harry because Voldemort would never allow someone else to do it. Voldemort wanted that final vengeance too much, and Draco would only be able to sit back and watch. In a sick twist of irony, Malfoy actually had to protect Harry, to keep him alive for Voldemort's use. That had to be a blow to Malfoy's ego.

Of course, if Harry were to escape, that would be even better. If? No. W _hen._ There had to be a way out. He was the damned Boy Who Lived. He'd escaped from Voldemort more than once; he could certainly escape from Draco Malfoy. Perhaps – if he played his cards just right – he could manipulate the Slytherin git. Possibly antagonize him into opening the cell door. Get his wand back. And then what? Well, he'd think of something when the time came. First, he had to get under Malfoy's skin, and – if he was even remotely perceptive – it seemed he'd already started.

Harry almost wondered what the look on Malfoy's face had been when he'd turned his back. Strike that; he was dying to know, to see what sort of leverage he might be able to gain over the other boy. Malfoy hadn't said a word, hadn't made a sound; not a clue for Harry to follow, and Harry refused to concede even his curiosity in front of Malfoy. But for someone who always tried for the last word, it had been somewhat surprising that the Malfoy insult-vault had come up empty. Even more curious had been the slight change in the tone of his voice. Had Harry struck _that_ deep a blow? Malfoy knew he'd never get to kill Harry himself. Was that really so disturbing a thought to the Slytherin?

Harry bit his lower lip. That couldn't be quite right. Perhaps his offhand insult had been a bit too close to the truth? Malfoy had always been a coward, hiding behind his trollish friends, running at the first sign of danger, using his father's name as a shield. That made sense. He really was simply a coward, and Harry had called him on it. Yes, of course. It was absolutely obvious... no it wasn't. He dug his teeth a little deeper into his lip.

When he'd called Malfoy a coward the first time, accusing him of hiding behind his father's robes, there had been an immediate counterattack, and it had been a pretty deep one. Harry felt his throat close a little as he remembered the remark about his parents. If those bars hadn't been there, he would have crushed Malfoy's windpipe with his own hands. Two more inches and he would have had him. Instead, he'd been trapped, and there was nothing he could do to defend his parents but glare at the bastard who'd insulted them in the first place. If looks could kill...

But they couldn't, sad to say. Funny though, Malfoy had appeared for a second as if that was exactly what looks could do. Those grey eyes, which had always been narrowed in a sneer, had been peeled wide open, sparking with tenuously restrained alarm. It was the first time Malfoy's eyes had ever looked alive to Harry, and the spark he saw underneath them had been fear. That served the git right. Fear was exactly what those eyes should contain. But still, there had been something else too.

Harry released his lower lip from his front teeth, and pulled the inside of his cheek between his back molars. He bit down. Hard. The pain did little to distract his mind from the minor epiphany that was closing in around it. There had been fear alright, but also some sort of recognition. Recognition? What the hell was he recognizing? How grievously enraged Harry was? That would require an understanding of human emotion. That little prat didn't have enough humanity running through his veins to recognize an emotion as basic as love if it struck him in the face.

Harry released the inside of his cheek from his teeth. Where did _that_ come from?

He didn't really have time to think on it before his train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a choked cough. After hours of holding his silence, Harry decided to let his curiosity get the better of him. He'd been sitting perfectly still for so long that every muscle fiber seemed to rip apart as he rolled his back flat against the wall and turned his head to look at Malfoy. The sight that greeted his eyes was startling, to say the least.

Malfoy was doubled over, wrapped in a lovely embroidered quilt, head in his hands. His normally slick hair was frizzing at the ends. Even more amusing, his shoulders were shaking, just slightly, but definitely shaking. Harry let his mouth fall open in amazement. This was just too good an opportunity to miss. _Let the game begin._

"What's the matter, Malfoy? Lose your teddy bear?"

The blond head shot up, revealing the classic Malfoy features warped by something normally foreign to them; emotion. Well, what a concept. The little snake was actually capable of something resembling human sentiment. Harry couldn't quite identify which emotion, but it almost seemed genuine. Almost.

"What did you say to me, Potter?" His voice was low and raspy.

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I interrupting a personal moment? I'll just leave you to your privacy... oh wait, I can't! Too bad, eh, Malfoy?"

"What the hell is your problem?" The drawl was back.

"Let me think about that." He paused for effect. "Oh yes, I remember now. I'm trapped in a dungeon with you, awaiting certain doom at the hands of a deranged dark wizard. That would just about cover it." He allowed himself a silent snort, which sent a wave of pain shooting through his shoulder, causing him to wince. "Almost forgot, lovely stab wound too."

Malfoy hesitated for a fraction of a second, not much, but enough that Harry noticed it, before finally shooting back, "You deserve no better."

Harry gaped at Malfoy in disbelief. The Slytherin was carefully avoiding his eyes, putting on a show of stretching his neck like a preening peacock. "I _deserve_ no better? _Deserve?_ And just how are you judging _that?_ "

"You've spent your entire life meddling in things that were too big for you," Malfoy sniffed. "You go strutting around like you own the school, and all the professors kiss your arse, make special allowances for you, especially the Mudblood-lover Dumbledore. You picked a fight with the most powerful dark wizard of the age, and most of all," Malfoy turned and looked at Harry, carefully placing his gaze just above Harry's eyebrows, "you messed with my family. Never a good move, Potter."

Harry swallowed. Where could he even _begin_ to start tearing apart that slew of accusations? He sighed. Start at the top and work his way down, he supposed. "Malfoy, I was a year old when I got mixed up with Voldemort." Malfoy flinched at the name, but Harry ignored it and carried on anyway. "Last time I checked the history books, he came bursting into my house, killed my parents, and then tried his hand at me. I was too young to remember any of it, and you're saying _I_ picked the fight? That's really funny, Malfoy. Really impossible, but really funny."

"Not that, you stupid prat. At school. You went messing with the Dark Lord's business on your own. Last year was bad enough, gallivanting to the Ministry like some glorious little hero, but you've been pulling stunts like that since the start. My father told me all about them. You just had to go and be the brave little Gryffindor, protecting the bloody Stone, then messing with the Chamber of Secrets. The school would have finally been rid of Mudblood filth, and you had to get in the way."

Harry pushed himself to his feet, steeling himself against any display of pain as his shoulder sent throbbing waves down his arm and across his chest. He walked slowly and deliberately across the floor to the bars of the cell. "Don't you call people that. Those were good witches and wizards that monster attacked, a lot finer and more respectable than some I could have mentioned." He glared meaningfully at Malfoy.

Malfoy snorted. "Finer my arse. A Hufflepuff and that scrawny Creevey kid. And that monster would have done the school a favour if it had actually killed that eyesore, Granger."

A burning fury rose in Harry's chest, and he began to reach for the bars as though expecting that he could bend them apart himself, escape, and strangle the bastard on the other side. _Don't rise to it, Harry. That's exactly what he wants. Don't take the bait. Stay in control._ He lowered his hands. Through a clenched jaw, he spoke in the most even tone he could manage. "You're just jealous of her."

"What are you talking about, Potter?"

 _He's asking questions. That means he's being defensive._ "The only reason you want Hermione out of the way is because she beats you at every turn, even in Potions."

"Humph. You think far too highly of your little Mudblood friend."

Harry shook his head, the fury melting into determination as he eased into the baiting game. "Oh, I think very highly of her, and for good reason, not just the fact that she's much brighter than you. Yes, you're jealous of her. Either that, or it's because she happens to be my friend. Is that it, Malfoy? Just need another little way to get at me? Which is it? Jealous of her marks..." Harry paused and raised an eyebrow. _Go for the kill._ "... or jealous of her friendship with me?"

Malfoy's face contorted as though he was choking on some bad cheese. He sputtered briefly, finally snarling out, "I have no desire to compare myself to a pathetic Mudblood, nor would I ever envy her friendship with the likes of _you_." The venom in the last word was palpable.

Harry narrowed his eyes and regarded Malfoy through the bottom half of his glasses, suppressing a triumphant smirk. _Too easy._ "I'm not altogether convinced. Hermione and Ron are two of the best witches and wizards I could ever want to know. They would die for me, and I'd die for them. _That's_ loyalty, Malfoy, and that's a hell of a lot to be jealous of."

"Crabbe and Goyle –"

"– would roll over and fetch for anyone who offered them a dog biscuit. Oh yes, that's really something special."

Draco hadn't actually realized that he'd moved from his seat until he came to a stop just out of Potter's reach.

"Crabbe and Goyle would do whatever I told them to do."

"So would a well trained cocker spaniel. They follow you around like overgrown puppies, although not quite so intelligent, and you use them. Without someone bigger and stronger to hide behind, you're nothing."

Draco felt his irritation giving way to fury as he glared at his insolent captive. Potter was _his_ prisoner, under _his_ control, and the boy _dared_ to stand up and belittle him? Draco could feel his hands starting to shake. He clenched them into fists, hoping Potter hadn't noticed. "Without your little friends here, you're not much of anything yourself, Potter," he snarled.

The dark-haired boy tipped his head to the side thoughtfully, looking far too confident, even as his damaged glasses balancing precariously atop his nose. "If you're so sure of yourself, Malfoy, why don't you give me back my wand, let me out, and face me for yourself?"

Heat was beginning to rise behind Draco's ears. At the moment, there was nothing he'd like more than to have a proper duel with the obnoxious bastard in the cell, just to prove that Potter didn't have a chance against him, but that was something he wouldn't be able to try anytime soon. Besides, it was just a trick. Potter was trying to goad him into allowing a chance for escape. _Try harder Potter, that won't work._

Draco forced himself to take a slow, steadying breath. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Potter?"

Potter blew out a breath through his nose. "Actually, I'd like to use a bathroom. Where the hell am I supposed to go?"

Draco's upper lip curled into a contemptuous sneer. He raised one hand and pointed towards a hole in the floor in the far corner of the cell. "All the comforts of home, eh, Potter? I'm sure it's a fair match for the Weasleys' house." He jutted out his chin. Surely he'd won this round?

Potter took a step towards the corner with one foot, but the stance of his body remained the same. "Nothing of yours could ever be half as good as anything the Weasleys have, Malfoy. Now, do you mind? I'd like a little privacy."

Once again, Potter turned his back to Draco, and left him standing open-mouthed. That unbelievable bastard had done it again. How did Potter always managed to catch him off guard?

Draco turned away from the cell, still confused and irritated. He had no desire to see Potter doing his business, so he sullenly moved back to his chair and slouched back into the cushions. It was a good thing his father couldn't see him right then. A Malfoy wasn't supposed to slouch.

He kicked at the floor absently, doing his best to ignore the sound of a stream of water plinking down a hole in the floor. It had to be almost morning, because he could hear his stomach complaining loudly for breakfast. Funny thing though; he wasn't actually hungry. Draco hardly noticed Potter leave the corner of the cell and move back to the spot where he'd spent the night.

Staring straight ahead at the wall in front of him, Draco was doing his damn best to empty his mind. He didn't want to think about how maddening this whole mess was becoming. There would be almost three more weeks of guard duty before the Dark Lord collected his prize. If the past few hours had been this bad, how in the name of Merlin was he going to be able to handle the rest of it? He hadn't expected a sleepover with Potter to be fun and games, but at the same time, he'd never thought the heavy hand of the power struggle would come from the other side of the bars.

His thoughts were cut off by his stomach growling again, but before he could mentally tell it to shut up, it was answered by a loud crack. Biddy appeared before him bearing a tray laden with pumpkin juice, toast, bacon, some fruit, and, of course, a steaming pot of tea.

"Master Malfoy, sir! Biddy is being sent by Mistress Malfoy. Mistress is telling Biddy to remind young Master that he is to eat a proper breakfast, sir."

Draco frowned. "I'm not hungry."

"Sir, Mistress Malfoy is insisting, sir." The house-elf hesitated. "Senior Master Malfoy is also wanting Biddy to tell you that the prisoner is also to eat, sir."

Draco noted that there were, indeed, two cups next to the flagon of pumpkin juice, and an extra empty plate. He rolled his eyes and nodded. A Malfoy is always gracious, yes; but that shouldn't mean that he had to share the same breakfast as Potter. Probably Biddy had been told to fix breakfast for both Potter and himself, and hadn't been aware that it wasn't proper for prisoners to eat as well as their captors. Draco sighed. He didn't have the energy to correct the ignorant house-elf properly right now.

"Is Master Malfoy needing anything else from Biddy, sir?"

He shook his head. "No, you may leave."

"Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir." She bent down and picked up the tray she had left last night, with the cold pot of tea still full.

As she was standing upright to disappear back to the kitchens, Draco caught a proper look at her. Slouching in his chair, it was the first time he had ever found himself on eye-level with a house-elf. Dressed in a decrepit pillowcase and looking distinctly forlorn, it wasn't a sight a Malfoy should have to lower himself to see. However, now that he'd seen it, there was no way to pretend he hadn't. Already feeling emotionally bruised, this was just another thing buffeting his brain in directions it had never before swayed. He hadn't actually intended to say it; it must have slipped out from the murky depths of his swirling thoughts. Possibly for the first time in history, a Malfoy actually looked a house-elf in the eye and said, "Thank you."

Biddy's ears perked up in sheer delight and her oversized eyes watered around the edges. She began bobbing her head in excitement, squeaking loudly. "Oh, Master Malfoy, sir! You is muchly welcomed, sir! If Master is needing anything else of Biddy, just call, sir!" She almost dropped the tray, she bowed so low. Still holding the bow, she vanished with a sharp crack.

Draco planted his feet against the stone floor and pushed himself a bit higher in his chair as he realized what he'd just done, and what Biddy had just said. It was unexpected, to say the least. His father would never have approved. A Malfoy _never_ thanks a house-elf. It would lead to impudence from the creatures. They might get ideas, perhaps even fancy themselves to be deserving of thanks.

Biddy had never informed him to "just call" if he wanted something. Of course, he would have called if he had desired, with or without her permission. And she would have come; no thanks were required. It was the function of a house-elf. But still, this was strangely different. It hadn't been raw, forced servitude. Biddy had offered her services _willingly_. It was highly unorthodox, but it almost felt... _good_. Perhaps, just maybe, Potter had been on to something.

Harry stared at Malfoy. He must be delirious, because for a moment, it had almost sounded as though Malfoy had thanked the house-elf. That was it. Delirium.

Malfoy must have realized that Harry was staring, and he turned to him wearing his best mask of contempt. "What are you gawking at, Potter?"

"I had a vision. For a moment, albeit brief, you almost resembled a human being. You don't need to worry though, because then I realized I must simply be losing my mind." Harry leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, getting ready for the next volley.

"What do you know, Potter?"

Harry sat up away from the wall and turned back to Malfoy. Whatever kind of verbal attack he'd expected, that hadn't been it. The other boy was still scowling at Harry with disdain, but his voice hadn't been laced with the same poisonous harshness it had always held. It sounded almost... bemused.

"A Malfoy is always gracious," Draco continued. "I'm just living up to the expectations of my name."

"That's not something I'd care to brag about. I saw how 'gracious' your father was to Dobby. I had never seen such revolting treatment of a living creature in all my life." The thought finished itself silently in Harry's mind: _Except maybe the way the Dursleys treated me._

"My father simply expects the kind of loyalty and respect due to a person of his stature," Malfoy sniffed, although his voice had started to waver.

"So someone of his stature has to resort to beating helpless creatures and starving them, in order to feel powerful? Your father is sick."

"My father is a great man!" Malfoy bellowed like a wounded animal. "He's a proud and dignified man, upholding a proud and dignified family tradition."

"Tradition of what? Cruelty?"

The hot air in Malfoy's balloon had apparently deflated. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Harry nodded. "That's fine, because I don't think I want to." What was there to understand? Lucius Malfoy was the original Evil Bastard, and Draco was Evil Bastard-in-training. The Malfoy tradition was Slytherin at its finest; the unbridled use of cunning and greed in the unending quest for power. No cost was too high, not even human life.

So why _had_ Malfoy thanked Biddy?

It had to be another game, Malfoy was trying to wage his own mental war on him, a counterattack perhaps. However, this game seemed different, and Harry found himself curious as to where it might lead.

Malfoy was brushing one foot back and forth across the floor, once again curled up in his chair, staring at the breakfast tray in front of him. Harry watched him silently, waiting for the Slytherin to make the next move.

"Do you want some tea?"

"What?" Harry found himself asking, not being quite able to keep the surprise from his voice.

"Are you daft? I asked if you wanted tea. I'm supposed to feed you, remember? It makes no personal difference to me, but you're no use to You-Know-Who if you starve to death."

Malfoy didn't use Voldemort's name. Come to think of it, neither had his father. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his brain, Harry filed away this scrap of information for later use, burying it behind the more pressing issue at hand. "Tea?"

"Don't make me ask you again, Potter, or you're going to be wearing it."

"Is it sweetened?"

"Sweetened tea? Don't be absurd. It's not proper to add sugar to tea." That was his mother talking, and Draco knew it.

Harry nodded. "Then no thanks. It always tastes bitter to me without sugar."

Draco raised his head just a fraction away from the breakfast tray and regarded Potter out of the corner of his eye. What kind of game was this anyway? Potter couldn't say that! It was just too... too... He was _not_ going to have even tea drinking preferences in common with his prisoner. He would not. He was a Malfoy.

Draco dropped his head back down and shook it, as if he could dispel the similarities through his ears. Without another word, he piled two thick slices of toast on one of the plates next to several pieces of bacon and poured a cupful of pumpkin juice. Potter was watching his every move throughout the process. Let him. "Apple or orange?"

"I'm not hungry."

Draco sighed and repeated, more insistent this time, "Apple or orange?"

A pause. "Apple."

In silence, Draco carried the cup and plate to the cell. There was one horizontal slot just large enough for a laden plate. That one night he had spent in the cell, he had wondered what that slot was for. Now he knew.

Potter hadn't moved from his spot by the wall, and Draco tapped his foot impatiently. "Starving yourself isn't going to do you any good." It was like taking care of a petulant child.

The reply came back in a sarcastic drawl that sounded far too familiar. "Oh, Malfoy, I didn't know you cared."

Draco almost dropped the breakfast. His brain was screaming protests at the derisive implication. That was the absolute furthest thing from the truth. The boy was his personal sworn enemy, not to mention the enemy of his family. He hated Potter with a burning passion. Looking down his nose, Draco forced the drawl back into his own voice. "Nothing could be further from the truth. I'm merely following orders. We need you alive."

Potter leaned forward and eased himself to his knees, then to his feet, clearly favouring his left shoulder now. He stared at the floor as he approached the bars, not really seeming to notice Draco. His hands grasped the dishes at the same instant his face came up, locking eyes with Draco. "I'd rather die on my own terms than let Voldemort have me for his purposes. I'd even rather let you kill me."

Draco couldn't tear his eyes away. Behind Potter's glasses were balls of green fire, flaming with accusations left unspoken. Harsh emotions wrapped themselves around Draco's chest and squeezed tightly. Anger, resentment, _fear_ . . .

Potter finally turned away and retreated to his place by the wall with his breakfast. Draco was left standing still, inhaling deeply as the iron band around his chest was replaced by a new sensation, this time, a strange sort of smoldering heat accompanied by a different sort of breathlessness. In that horrible burning awareness he realized that this was what being hurt was like.

How was Potter doing this? Draco didn't care what the boy thought of him. The Gryffindor was weak, Draco reminded himself once again. He was unarmed and imprisoned, helpless... yet he was still stronger than Draco had ever been. That was what terrified him. Draco had finally discovered that his rival had the upper hand, even under dismal circumstances, and probably always would have, until the day he finally died. Well, at least there was an end in sight, and the responsibility wouldn't fall on Draco. Strangely, the thought didn't reassure him as he'd expected it would.

Potter was sitting quietly in his spot, tossing the apple absently from hand to hand with nothing more than a flick of the wrist.

Draco set his jaw, willing the familiar loathing to overtake his distress. When that didn't work, he settled for irritation. "It's food, Potter. Not a plaything."

Without skipping a beat, Harry bit a large chunk out of the apple and started tossing it again. Around the mouthful, he mumbled, "It's both."

Draco felt his face getting hot. This was a losing battle, it seemed. The boy was too irritating for Draco to deal with. Still, just wait until the Dark Lord arrived. Just wait. Potter surely couldn't hold up against that, could he? No. The boy would crack, and then, once again, he would be the image of the pathetic little Mudblood-loving Gryffindor nemesis that Draco had always loved to hate. Just wait.

Hours passed. Draco made a silent vigil of the whole affair, refusing to be pulled into another verbal battle, and mercifully, Potter didn't seem all that inclined to offer him one. The apple had been set aside, and its one bitten spot had turned brown. Steam had long ago stopped puffing from the spout of the teapot. Biddy came, retrieved the tray, and disappeared. All the while, Potter didn't move or speak, and neither did Draco.

Draco felt himself starting to doze off when a pained hiss snapped him fully awake. Pulling himself directly upright in his chair, he saw Potter bent over on the floor, the agony on his face partially hidden by his hand pressed against his forehead. Draco was so startled by the sudden change Potter's demeanor that he didn't allow himself time to think up a smart comment. "What is it?"

It took a moment for Potter to pull his hand away from his face to reveal a very grave expression. He whispered one word. "Voldemort."

The door of the dungeon flew open with a crash, and Draco didn't need to look to know who had just arrived.

 

*********

 


	4. Burden of Duty

_Laughing in a crown of jewels,  
Numbness from a scepter's wound.  
Toss and turn, I spin and learn,  
"Catch yourself before you burn." _

_A joker's dance before the king,  
Jangling beads, and silver rings.  
Close your eyes and bare the sound,  
Jumping up - falling down._  
(~Indigo Girls)

*********

The glistening toes of black boots appeared under the hem of the robes swishing steadily down the stairs, then scale-like hands, then the most horrifying face Draco had ever seen. Draco jumped out of his chair; it would not do to be caught sitting in the presence of such a powerful wizard. The air crackled with invisible ripples of dark energy, and Draco could feel the hairs along his arms stand on end. Add another thing to the list of new and disturbing things he had experienced in the past few hours. As Lord Voldemort passed him, he pressed his back against the wall.

In the cell, Potter was staggering to his feet. His face was screwed up as though something was painfully blinding him. Draco guessed that it must be the scar causing that reaction. Instead of shrinking back to the far corner of the wall, however, Potter took a step towards the cell bars. He got no further though.

Lips pulling back in a perverse sort of grin, Voldemort pulled his wand from his robes and whipped it at the captive. "Prohibito!"

As though swept aside by an enormous hand, Potter went flying against the back wall of the cell, spread-eagled. The manacles dangling there jumped to life, snapping themselves around his wrists and ankles. As he struggled against his restraints, the chains retracted into the wall, securing him firmly in place. With another casual wave of his wand, Voldemort sent a thick band of cloth wrapping around Potter's mouth, effectively gagging the boy.

He tucked the wand back into his robes. "Malfoy, unlock the cell." Voldemort's voice dug sharply into Draco's ears, thrillingly terrifying and powerful at once. He turned automatically to remove the key from the shelf but found his father had already done so. Lucius did not look at Draco once as he moved to the lock and turned the key. He bowed deeply as Voldemort walked passed him into the cell.

The Dark Lord moved up on Potter as a spider approaching a gnat caught in its web. "Mister Potter. So good of you to join us for this extraordinary occasion." The voice was dark, sibilant, and held no trace of mercy. It was easy to see just how powerful the Dark Lord was. Now Draco understood exactly why his father had chosen service to such power.

Although restrained, Potter was doing an excellent job of showing precisely how pleased he was to be there. He strained against the metal cuffs, and Draco could see the blunt edges almost cutting into the skin on his wrists. Writhing frantically, his eyes flashed defiance, pain, contempt, and pure unadulterated hatred. It made the looks he had given Draco over the years seem almost affectionate. Draco wondered just how securely the manacles were attached to the stone wall.

"Oh come now, Potter. This will be a glorious event. You should be honoured to be a part of it." Voldemort began pacing back and forth slowly in front of the struggling boy.

Draco snuck a sideways glace at his father. Lucius was standing still as a sentinel, observing the occupants of the cell with detached attention. Draco swallowed and pulled himself up a bit straighter in imitation of his father. In the cell, Voldemort continued his monologue.

"You almost did me a favour the night you escaped with your shiny little Portkey. At the time, regaining my body and most of my power was a sufficient goal. I would have killed you and have been done with it. However, once I had my body and my loyal Death Eaters returned to me, I could bide my time."

He stopped pacing in front of Potter and took a step towards the boy. Beads of sweat started to form on Potter's face and his glasses slid to the end of his nose.

"You took something from me, Potter. Power. I'm well aware that you are a powerful wizard, but much of that ability does not belong to you. Now, I shall have it back." He reached up with one hand, extended a long finger, and pressed it against Harry's scar.

Eyelids squeezed shut over brilliant green irises and Potter's body went completely rigid against the restraints. His teeth bit down on the cloth gag, and the muscles of his jaw bunched and strained. Still, he didn't make a sound.

Draco's amused smirk fell into a startled frown. He had known Potter's scar had some strange connection to Voldemort and that it had caused episodes of a sort at school, but he had been totally unaware that it was so significant. It was an unnerving display to watch, to say the least.

Finally, Voldemort pulled his hand away. Potter sagged against the wall, breathing heavily.

The Dark Lord resumed pacing as though nothing had happened. "In twenty days, there will be a full lunar eclipse. Such astrological events are times of high magic. I discovered an ancient spell used by warlords and wizards of the past to absorb the powers of their enemies. The spell centers around the magic released by the eclipse and a potion using your blood. Isn't that lovely, Potter? You shall be bleeding for my pleasure yet again."

Potter made another violent lunge against his restraints, and Voldemort laughed at him. The laugh wasn't the pleasant thing a laugh should be. It sent sharp, icy chills along Draco's spine, and he felt himself shrinking further against the wall.

"On the night of the eclipse," Voldemort continued his sermon, "I shall consume the potion. As the light begins to bleed away from the moon, your magic and your life shall begin to bleed away from your body. As the darkness grows, my power shall grow with it until the moon fades from the night sky." He spun around to face Potter, his cloak billowing. The Dark Lord certainly had a flair for the dramatic.

His face pulled up in a tight sneer. "When the last of the light is gone, you will die, and my power will be fully restored. It's almost poetic in its simplicity." The sneer changed into a hideous excuse for a smile. "I will enjoy watching you die."

A low growl began in Potter's throat.

"With the power I will have retrieved from you, I will be unstoppable. Now, being unstoppable, what would I want to do first?" His tone was almost singsong, taunting his helpless captive. Potter growled a bit louder.

Voldemort laughed again. "I will take my Death Eaters and I will destroy Hogwarts."

Potter's eyes went wide and he shrank back momentarily before lunging again.

"Oh yes, Potter. Hogwarts will fall; every last brick. And every last Mudblood. Just think, you've made it all possible."

The growl in Potter's throat became a muffled wail. He thrashed violently. Draco could see a bit of blood starting to seep around the edges of the manacles.

Voldemort took another step towards Potter. "Don't be so upset," he mocked. "At least you'll be with your little Mudblood friends and parents. Yes, your parents. Now you know their sacrifice was in vain. The fools they were."

Fighting against his gag, Potter barked two sharp syllables, and Draco was quite certain they weren't, "thank you."

"You still haven't learned any manners, boy," Voldemort spat, whipping his wand from his robes. "CRUCIO!"

Harry's back arched sharply, throwing his head into the wall, but that was the least violent part of the spectacle. The muscles along the sides of his slender neck bulged unnaturally and his hands contorted like grotesque claws. Every limb began to shake as though pulled by invisible strings. Like some bizarre puppet, Potter danced in his restraints. Sweat had soaked his hair, which was plastered to his forehead and neck in dark clumps, and his glassed flew off from the convulsions. Through all of it, his mouth was pulled open around the gag as though he was trying to scream, but not a sound escaped him.

And Draco watched in horror.

The Dark Lord laughed in fiendish delight as the display continued. Seconds stretched into minutes. When it seemed as though Potter most certainly should have died, Voldemort turned his wand away. The boy's body seemed terribly frail as it collapsed limp against the wall. The Dark Lord nodded in satisfaction. "Perhaps now you'll learn to keep a civil tongue in your head."

With that, he whipped around and strode from the cell. Lucius automatically locked the cell door behind him.

Draco swallowed and pulled himself as straight as he could stand. Suddenly, the idea of being honoured by Lord Voldemort seemed to be much more intimidating. Draco took a steadying breath. This is what he always wanted. This was his time to be acknowledged. Potter had only gotten what he deserved, and Draco was soon to receive his glorious due.

Voldemort approached him and looked down his nose at the blonde boy. Draco bowed his head in respect, knowing better than to look up into the Dark Lord's eyes. His stomach tried to lurch in place, but Draco forced it to lie still.

"Young Malfoy," Voldemort began slowly, "You've accomplished a task which has will eventually restore my full power. For that, you shall be rewarded. The Malfoy name has long been in my service, and you have served to increase its honour."

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco was watching Potter's wilted form, searching for some sign of life. Was he insane? Lord Voldemort himself was addressing him, and he was too busy watching the body of his sworn enemy to care. He squeezed him eyes shut and focused on the words of his future master. He opened them again and stared at the shiny black boots poking out under the bottom of Voldemort's robes.

"When Potter is dead, you will be inducted into the ranks of my loyal Death Eaters in acknowledgement of your contribution. You will be the youngest Death Eater in my service. I was hesitant to consider it when your father originally made the request, but you seem to have proven yourself." His voice dropped a level. "Be certain that my confidence is not misplaced."

Draco realized he was expected to respond. Without lifting his head, he said as clearly as he could, "Yes, my Lord."

This seemed to please the Dark Lord well enough. The robes whirled as Voldemort turned away. Draco raised his head and watched as he marched to the dungeon stairs. Lucius nodded at Draco in approval, handed him the key to the cell, and fell into step behind his master.

Without looking back, Voldemort pulled out his wand and waved it lazily over his shoulder. In his cell, the restraints around Harry's wrists and ankles dropped away, the gag disappeared, and the lifeless boy collapsed to the ground. Draco listened as the footsteps of Voldemort and his father faded away, disappearing as the dungeon door slammed shut.

Draco stared at the limp figure sprawled face-down on the floor and began slowly walking towards the bars with scantily clad trepidation. Potter had stood up to Lord Voldemort. Even bound and gagged, he had actually looked Voldemort in the eye and defied him. Of course, it had done him no good. Voldemort was the more powerful wizard, much more powerful. Potter deserved what he got. You don't go up against the most powerful wizard of the age and not expect to come out on the bottom. He deserved no better. He deserved...

Draco reached the door of the cell. Biting his lower lip, he sucked in a deep breath, caught in a moment of indecision.

Glancing down, he saw the key jumping around on the palm of his shaking hand. Draco had known the boy was a high-security prisoner because of how badly the Dark Lord had wanted him, but it never struck him that Potter was actually a threat... until now.

With a shock, Draco realized that he had just admitted to himself that Potter was undeniably powerful. He had always known it was true, somewhere in the back of his mind, but it's never something you want to admit to yourself about your rival. The implications of such an admission were just as undesirable. Power . . . the boy, lying face-down inside the cell, had it. Certainly he was no match for the Dark Lord, but still, there was power in him. As Draco's well-conditioned mindset demanded, it was a thing of value which required him to be respected or feared. In Potter's case, Draco wasn't sure which idea scared him more, but both thoughts were already brewing in his mind.

He felt himself being pulled harshly in two directions. Half of him was screaming that he had to see for himself if Potter was alive, to make certain he would be okay, while the other half wanted to cower as far away as possible to brood on the demonstration he had just witnessed. The most unsettling part of this was that neither pull was something he had ever wanted to feel. Simultaneous fear for Potter, and fear of Potter.

He needed an answer aside from his emotions, which he decided were utterly unreliable at the moment. He took a deep breath. It was his job to keep Potter secure for the Dark Lord. That also meant he had to make sure Potter was alive, right?

The trembling in his hands almost made him drop the key as he slid it into the lock. The mechanism caught with a clink and the door swung open. Draco approached the motionless form warily. Potter was lying face-down, but his head was turned to the side just enough for Draco to see the hollow of the cheekbone, the gentle curve of his jaw line, the faint indentation behind his eye from the earpiece of his missing glasses. What he couldn't see was any sign of life. The fear of a potential threat vanished, leaving nothing but the wrenching anxiety that Harry was dead.

Draco fell to his knees next to Potter's prone form and rolled him over. His other cheek was bruised from falling onto the floor and there was a trickle of blood at the corner of his slightly blue lips.

"Damn it, Potter, wake up!" He held his cheek over Harry's mouth and could feel the faintest trace of warm breath against his skin. With his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, he reached down and seized Harry's wrist. The beats were weak, but he was alive.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief, only to sit up in shock at the fact that he was relieved. Why should he care about Potter? Why...? Oh, that's right. Because Lord Voldemort needs him alive. Draco's future glory depended strictly on Potter's usefulness to the Dark Lord. That was it. Perfectly acceptable.

Keep telling yourself that, whispered a little voice in the back of his mind. Shut up, he snapped.

He pulled a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and aimed his wand at it. "Aquaro." A small jet of water squirted onto the cloth.

Draco leaned over and brushed Potter's sweaty fringe away from his forehead only to recoil in shock. The familiar lightning bolt scar stood out like a new fresh cut. Had the Cruciatus Curse done that? Draco watched as it slowly faded back into the thin line he remembered.

Tempted by a strange curiosity, Draco reached out to touch it... the legendary scar... then stopped inches short. He couldn't understand why, but he somehow felt that to touch it would have been an unforgivable violation. Admonishing himself for even giving a thought to the issue, he quickly pressed the cloth across Potter's forehead, covering the scar.

Harry was laying back in a thick patch of grass, wet with nighttime dew. He could feel the cool breeze across his skin, hear the trees rustling . . . see Draco Malfoy's face lean over his with worry creasing his features into a deep frown. Why was Malfoy worried? In the sky, over the other boy's shoulder, the moon was full, brightly illuminating the night sky. No, it wasn't full. There was a small bite out of the lower edge . . . then a larger bite. In the fading light, he could make out the worry on Malfoy's face turning into pain, and it seemed as though he were about to cry. However, it wasn't just the light fading away. Harry felt as though he were fading away with it. As the dream dissolved, he felt Malfoy's hand cupped against his cheek . . .

A cool pressure pressed against his forehead. It was a pleasant contrast to the burning that was flooding through the rest of his body. Where was he? It was so hard to remember. How did he pass out? Where did all this pain come from? Then it came back to him. Voldemort. The Cruciatus Curse. How long had Voldemort kept his wand turned on him? It had certainly seemed like an eternity.

Gradually, Harry felt the floor stop tilting beneath his back and he realized he was barely breathing. He tried to suck in a deep breath, but only succeeded in racking his body with a coughing fit. There was a strange bubbling sensation in his lungs, and a metallic taste in his mouth. Oh, wonderful.

The coolness on his forehead was removed briefly only to be replaced by something cooler. Something else dabbed at the edge of his mouth. At first, in his disorientation, it hadn't occur to Harry that there must be another person next to him, but finally the thought broke through the haze around his brain. Malfoy. It could only be Malfoy.

Harry opened his bleary eyes, but even the dim light of the dungeons sent his head spinning again. He moaned and squeezed them shut again as the floor rocked underneath him.

"Potter? Snap out of it, Potter." Malfoy's voice was forceful, but with no trace of its usual drawl, and what almost sounded like anxiety.

Harry moaned again in response.

"Potter, in the name of Merlin, wake up!" That was an order, pushy to be sure, but it still wasn't the drawl.

More slowly this time, Harry pulled his eyes open. Malfoy was leaning over him, his face lined with concern. In itself, that was enough to cause Harry some alarm. It shocked him even more when Draco reached up and wiped his face with a damp cloth. Harry opened his mouth to ask just what the hell he was doing when he was shaken by another coughing fit, followed by the heavy flavour of blood.

He felt Malfoy's hand against his chest. "Lie still. You'll just make it worse."

Too dazed to argue, Harry nodded his head dumbly, which only made his head spin again. He closed his eyes and grimaced. Malfoy's hand felt along the back of his head until it came to the spot where he had cracked it against the wall. Harry shied away from the touch, but Malfoy repeated firmly, "Lie still."

Harry opened his eyes again and watched as Draco pulled out his wand and aimed it at the offending bump. Harry felt a wave of panic, but Malfoy quickly muttered something too soft for Harry to hear, and the pain from the welt disappeared and the foggy ache in his temples faded.

"Where did you learn that?" Harry asked weakly.

"Long story," came the flat reply.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Even when you're half dead, you just can't drop the sarcasm, can you?" He peered down at Harry, then sighed. "During summer holiday, I used to come home with bruises after playing outside, and my father told me that I looked like a common servant all bruised up. So I learned how to get rid of them. Happy now?"

Harry tried to shrug, but his shoulder protested the motion and elicited another wet cough, so he settled for twisting his lips. "Do I look like I should be happy?"

Draco ignored his reply. "Here, sit up now. Otherwise, you'll choke on the blood."

Harry tried to comply, he really did, but halfway up, the blood started to rush from his head. As he fell back, a strong hand caught him firmly between his shoulder blades and held him still until the dizziness had passed. Malfoy gradually pushed him up the rest of the way, his hand lingering just a brief moment longer than necessary. Harry sat numbly, not wanting to believe what his brain was telling him. Was it only the head injury, or had Malfoy just treated him like a human being? Helped him? No. Malfoy didn't want to help him. Malfoy was the reason he was in this mess in the first place. He was only doing this because Voldemort's prize couldn't die on them.

Despite the fact that he was a mess and nothing he could do would really make a difference, Harry vainly reached around to adjust his robes, to have some semblance of presence in front of Malfoy, but the shifting caused his shoulder to throb even more, and he grimaced.

Malfoy's eyebrows knitted together. "Your shoulder." He pointed towards the offending joint.

"What about it?" Harry asked, suddenly defensive. He shrank back, defensively turning his shoulder away from the other boy.

Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Let me see it."

"Wait, you're the one who stabbed it in the first place and you want..." Another coughing fit, more blood.

Malfoy scowled, but not at Harry. "We need to do something about that, too."

"State the obvious," Harry said in a rush between laboured breaths.

"God, Potter. Even when someone tries to help you, you've got to be such a stupid prat." Malfoy's voice was edged with frustration.

He reached across for the edge of Potter's robes only to have his target twisted out of his reach yet again. What was the matter with this kid?

Draco took a risk and searched Potter's face for himself. What he saw there was eerily familiar. When you hit an animal once, it will never willingly let you touch it again. It was the look on the house elves' faces whenever he had brought his foot back to dole out some discipline. Now, it same distrust was openly displayed on Potter's face. That was fair, Draco supposed. He had caused the injury. Why should Potter trust him to fix it?

Harry forced his breath told hold steady enough for him to speak. "Sorry. The whole concept of a Malfoy trying to help me for altruistic reasons is a tough potion to swallow. The only reason you're in here instead of sitting under your blanket laughing at me is because I'm no good to you dead."

Draco's eye twitched. God, Potter was actually perceptive, but for some reason, it sounded different when he'd said it. "You're no good to yourself dead either."

"It's only a flesh-wound. It's not going to kill me."

Malfoy frowned. "It's been getting progressively worse since yesterday, and likelihood is that it's infected. Yes, an infection can kill you quite nicely."

Harry's eyes widened at the blonde boy. Had Malfoy really been paying enough attention to him to notice that? True, it had been getting worse, and he was probably quite right about the status of the injury, but Harry just didn't want the Slytherin anywhere near his shoulder. Of course, it's not as though many other options were open to him. He nodded.

Without another word, Malfoy eased Harry's arm out of the robes, causing him to wince. Draco paused mid-motion, waiting for the pained expression on Harry's face to fade a little before continuing. He peeled back the collar of Harry's jumper, and Harry found himself shocked when he noted that Malfoy had quite... impressive hands. Seeker's hands, calloused from holding a broom, but delicate and quick. They looked like his own, although less knobby. The next thing he saw put Malfoy's hands completely out of his thoughts and nearly made him pass out again.

The wound in his shoulder was an ugly thing, to use a gross understatement. The edges of the open wound were cracked and inflamed, and shocking red lines streaked away from it under his skin as blood poisoning started to spread. Trails and smudges of dried blood covered the whole area. Harry felt his stomach turn and quickly looked away.

"Biddy!" Malfoy's voice echoed through the dungeons.

A split second later, the house elf appeared. "Master Malfoy, sir!" she squeaked happily. "You is calling Biddy sir? What is Master Malfoy wanting...?" Her questions ran to an abrupt halt when she saw the look on Draco's face, then turned to see Harry's shoulder. Her huge eyes widened in shock. "Master Malfoy, sir! Har... the prisoner is hurt, sir. Is Biddy to get Senior Master Malfoy?"

"No!" Draco cried, a bit too quickly, before reassuming his more usual tone. "No, this is my duty. If father knew that anything had gone wrong, he would be displeased with me. I can fix this for myself."

The house elf bowed in agreement. "Biddy is not wanting to have gracious Master in trouble, sir. Biddy is keeping Master's secret."

Malfoy nodded. "Good. Now, go to my private potions supply. There's a box labeled 'Medi-Potions.' Fetch it at once."

"Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir!" She vanished.

The two boys were left in silence. Harry finally broke the standstill. "How long did he have the Cruciatus Curse on me?"

Draco's head snapped up and he considered the question. Potter spoke of it so casually, when the incident had almost killed him. It would have left most fully grown wizards catatonic. "Two minutes, maybe three." Draco kept his voice flat.

Harry nodded slowly. "It felt longer than the last time."

"Last time?" Malfoy's eyes widened just a bit.

"Oh right. At the end of the Triwizard Tournament. All your father probably told you was that Voldemort had me, but I got lucky and escaped, conveniently leaving out the part where he had me tied up and under the Cruciatus Curse."

"You lived through that twice?" Malfoy's voice was skeptical, incredulous, but under that, plainly amazed.

"Yeah, sure. The incredible, unsinkable Harry Potter. Just keep pounding on him because he keeps bouncing back." Harry's voice was bitter. "I deserve no better anyway."

Draco wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. Of course, that's what he thought, and it was true, wasn't it? The git deserved every bit of torment the Dark Lord had dealt him, and it was now Draco's duty to keep him alive for the next round. There was nothing about being nice in his contract. Draco Malfoy doesn't put his name to any deal like that. "Well, after that performance and all the stuff you did over the years, how could you expect anything less?" Draco leaned back from his knees and settled himself cross- legged on the floor. "You disrespected the Dark Lord to his face. What kind of a stupid stunt was that?"

Harry was staring poker-faced at the wall ahead of him, unmoving. He lowered his voice, but the bitterness only grew deeper. "The kind of stunt you pull when it's the only weapon you have."

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "Weapon? You don't honestly believe you were fighting back at him that way? You couldn't move and couldn't talk."

"Perhaps not." His voice lightened somewhat. "But Voldemort got the message loud and clear."

"And what message is that?" Draco tried to inject some haughtiness into his voice to cover his flinching at Voldemort's name.

Harry glanced casually at Malfoy. The other boy's face was just far enough away that it was slightly blurred without his glasses, but Harry could still see that Malfoy was unmistakably confused, and was still shying away from Voldemort's name like a horse bucking in front of a snake. Everyone was afraid of Voldemort, even those who rode in his wake, struggling for a scrap of the same power but receiving nothing but a perpetual cycle of servitude. Yes, even Draco was afraid; Harry was now certain of it. Harry looked up to face his enemy fully, catching the wide, grey pools of his eyes with his stare.

Draco, for one, was determined not to blink this time.

"The message," Harry said softly, "is that I'm not afraid of him. If I'm going to go down, I'll go down with Voldemort knowing that his never completely defeated me."

"That makes no sense, Potter. If he kills you, obviously, you've lost. It won't matter if you cowered or not. I think you did more damage to your head I initially thought."

Underneath Malfoy's impassive face, Harry could that something in what he'd said had made sense to the Slytherin, despite his claims to the contrary. Harry shook his head, never taking his eyes from Malfoy's grey ones. "As much as Voldemort wants my life, he wants my fear just as much. Fear is nothing more than a perverse form of respect, and I have no respect for him."

"He's stronger than you, Potter," Draco stated definitively. "More powerful than any other living wizard. That's why anyone with a shred of sense knows better than to cross him. Everyone except you. He'll get exactly what he wants from you, your fear, and your life. He can get anything he wants. That's strength."

Potter shook his head. His voice was still soft, but it was anything but weak. "There's a difference between power and strength, Malfoy, but I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Draco's nostrils flared at the insult. "Try me, Potter."

Speaking evenly and rationally, the other boy responded. "It's the difference between forcing people into submission to satisfy your own greed, and being willing to stand on your own two feet, even it you have to sacrifice everything to do it. Power disappears, it has no loyalty, no value. Strength is a virtue, not a prize. It's something nobody can take from you until the moment you die, and I'm not going to let Voldemort take it from me. He can't have power over me if I refuse to fear him."

Somewhere in the depths of Draco's gut, a tiny shiver began building upwards, climbing through his chest and along his spine. It crept up the back of his neck and over his scalp, making each hair stand on end. Of course he understood every word Potter had said. He wasn't stupid. But then, he wasn't crazy either. It was only natural to fear the Dark Lord. Only those foolish enough to oppose him needed to fear him, and fear him they should. Potter was powerful, yes, Draco had admitted that to himself, but he was no match for the Dark Lord. How could Potter be so brazen?

"Brave words for a dying man."

"You're scared of him."

Draco shrank back. "That's utterly ridiculous, Potter." He tried to sound tough, but failed.

"It's not ridiculous. It's obvious. You won't even say his name out loud."

"Out of respect for him!" Malfoy protested.

"Then why did you flinch when I said Voldemort's name?"

Again, Draco cringed at the sound of the name, unable to stifle his reaction in time. "It's not that! It's just that I . . ."

"Say it."

"What?" Draco felt his pulse speed up.

"Say his name"

"Potter, you're just digging for trouble now..."

"Voldemort." The intensity in Potter's glare turned up a notch.

"Don't do that." Draco scooted back an inch.

"Voldemort."

"Stop that!"

"Say it!" Harry's voice was unrelenting, but the outburst caused another deep, wet cough bringing another warm rush of blood to the back of his mouth. He swallowed on it, trying to keep his stomach from turning.

This time, Draco was too distracted to notice. "I... I..."

"You can't, can you?" It wasn't a question.

Draco balled his fists and leaned forward. "My father taught me better than to disrespect the Dark Lord."

Harry nodded. "That's because your father is scared of him, too."

"He is not!" Draco fussed. "My father knows well to pay proper respect where it's due. Someone of the Dark Lord's status has earned that honour."

Potter closed his eyes and took a slow, careful breath. "Voldemort's followers don't respect him. They fear him, because they know if they cross him, he'll kill them. Your father is more of a servant to Voldemort than Biddy is to you!"

Draco's jaw jutted out in indignation, but his words sounded like a plea even to his own ears. The howl of the predator was now the cry of a wounded animal. "The Dark Lord gives his followers power and honour!"

"No. He only takes it from them. He uses you, your father, everyone. You're worthless to him beyond your usefulness, just like me."

Draco's face was set in stone, but his eyes were haunted. "No..." he whispered.

"You know it's true. I can see it in your face."

Draco turned away quickly. "Don't do that."

Angry...  be angry at Potter. He's just causing trouble because that's what people like him do. They know nothing about the way anything works, about power, about honour and making a name. He's a Gryffindor for Merlin's sake! Potter's trying to take advantage of the fact that I'm not letting him die. He's jealous. He is going to die by the hand of the Dark Lord, and I will have power and prestige. Voldemort will give me honour! I, the Death Eater who caught Harry Potter, will be one of his most favoured servants!

Servant? No. That's what Potter wants you to think. It's not like that. The Dark Lord's follower. Yes, that's it. His follower.

"The Dark Lord's followers will be richly rewarded Potter. You just can't admit that you picked the loosing side."

Harry shrugged with his good shoulder. "Believe whatever you want, Malfoy. At least when I die, whether it's sooner or later, I'll know I won't have died as a slave."

Potter returned to staring off at the wall, and Draco took the opportunity to search his face. As hard as Potter's expression was, his skin had a greyish undertone and was coated with sweat and dirt. The lips were a shade too pale, slightly parted, and Draco realized he was still not breathing easily. With the force and conviction behind everything the boy had said, Draco had forgotten how terrible his injuries were. Draco almost had to admire the boy, but not quite. Biddy would come back soon. In the meantime...

A wet cloth landed in Harry's lap.

"Wipe your face. It's filthy."

Draco watched as Potter took the cloth in silence and ran it across his cheekbones, wiping carefully around the bruise on one cheek, and over the bridge of his nose. The cloth moved back and forth along his brow, then back through the mess of black hair, pushing the sweaty strands away from his forehead. It continued down to the nape of his neck, and came to rest there. Potter's head bowed slightly, letting drops of water squeeze from the cloth and soak the collar of his robes.

Potter shifted slightly, and the sleeve of robe fell down his arm towards his elbow. It exposed his slender wrist, which itself was encircled by shocking bands of raw skin, abrasions, and smudges of blood.

Draco swallowed and glanced down at his own wrists. He had delicate skin, and although he hadn't been thrashing like Potter, the night he had spent chained to that wall had left more than just an emotional scar. On his pale white wrists were the faint brownish smudges where his skin had chafed raw that night and scabbed the next day. Although he prided himself on his elegant appearance and smooth, aristocratic skin tone, Draco had chosen not to heal those scars with magic. He wanted to be able to carry a reminder of that lesson as long as he lived so that he would never again find himself in such a position. He had never considered that it would someday present a commonality between him and a prisoner under his control.

Harry sat still for a moment, then without moving, asked, "What happened to my glasses?"

Although there was no reply, he heard the sound of Malfoy's feet scraping along the floor of the cell, the requested pair of glasses were placed neatly in his hand. Harry held them up and squinted through them in the dim light of the dungeons. They were not too badly scratched, but the earpieces had been bent askew. Harry sighed and folded them over the neck of his jumper. He'd try to fix them later. Apparently, there would be plenty of time for that.

A loud crack announced Biddy's return. "Master Malfoy, sir, Biddy is finding all of these. Is Master Malfoy needing anything else of Biddy?"

"No, just set the box there." Malfoy sounded strangely detached.

Glass bottles of all different sizes clinked as Biddy placed the box on the floor. "Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir!"

"Thank you, Biddy."

The house elf beamed at Malfoy in grateful adoration. "Oh, you is welcomed, sir! Let Biddy know if there is anything Biddy can do to help you, Master Malfoy, sir!" She bowed deeply and vanished.

As Draco began to dig through the box, he caught Potter looking at him again. Potter's eyebrows were raised in mild surprise... and approval. Draco felt a flush of pride wash over his cheeks before he caught himself. He was not looking for Potter's approval, nor did he want it. His father's approval was his goal. Potter was a thing to toy with until the Dark Lord had his way with him. That's it. Draco was merely using the opportunity to play head games with Potter, confusing him by thanking the house elf and pretending to be generous. Gryffindors are trusting. Potter would just become more open to future attacks, bait-and-switch. Draco was simply using a new predatory tactic.

Still trying to convince yourself, aren't you? The little voice was back.

I thought I told you to shut up.

He fished a small cobalt bottle out of the box and held it up to the dim light. It was half full. Setting it aside, he found a slightly larger red bottle and checked the label.

Harry watched in curiosity, but was starting to feel a bit nervous. He made another attempt at a deep breath, only to be rewarded by another bubbly spasm, and knew it would only get worse without help. However, his already shaky faith in Malfoy's medical care practically vanished as the Slytherin pulled off the corks of both bottles and topped off the small blue bottle with the contents of the red one. He handed the blue bottle to Harry. "Drink up."

Harry nearly choked. "You expect me to drink that? What did you mix together?" He knew Malfoy was good with potions, but that seemed too careless.

"The blue bottle is a potion for general lung maladies and breathing trouble; the red bottle is for internal bleeding. Trust me."

Harry gawked. His mind was reeling with a million insolent ways to explain exactly why he shouldn't trust Malfoy, but if he were to speak his thoughts aloud, his chances of receiving that help were slim to none. He needed the boy's help, true, but to trust Malfoy? The person whose hatred for Harry was second only to Voldemort's? The person who had spent every spare moment of the past few years trying to find ways to torment him? The same Malfoy who, just yesterday, had poisoned him and handed him over to Voldemort?

The same person who had flushed with pride at Harry's approval of the way he'd thanked Biddy?

Harry downed the potion in one swallow. It smelled like turpentine and tasted worse, but the effect was instantaneous. Harry sucked in great gulps of air as though he'd just surfaced from too long underwater. The ferrous taste of blood disappeared from the back of his tongue and the sickening bubbling in his chest was gone.

Draco noted the immediate improvement in Potter's facial tone, the emergence of a faint blush in the hollows of his cheeks. He reached towards Potter. "Okay, now your shoulder."

Once again, Potter jerked away, the same spooked expression haunting his eyes.

Draco dropped his hand. "Potter, let me look. I'm not going to hurt it."

"You caused it."

Draco sighed. "I know."

It wasn't an apology, not by a long shot, but Harry heard a subtle change taking place with that admission. Not guilt, but responsibility. Malfoy had admitted responsibility for his action. Slowly, Harry turned his shoulder towards Draco.

Draco brought up his hands slowly and pulled Harry's clothes completely away from the wound. He allowed himself a moment of amazement that Potter had been able to function with such a grotesque injury showing while so little indication that he even had one. This was certainly not something that could heal on its own. He didn't have many potions on hand that would heal a wound this grievous, and only one that would do it quickly. Unless he missed his guess, he had only a few drops of that potion left, but it should be enough.

Selecting a tiny frosted glass bottle from the box, he tilted it to the side and frowned at the insignificant reserve of liquid remaining. It would have to do. He leaned over and rested one hand gently on Potter's shoulder to assure himself that he'd hold still, and used the thumb of his other hand to pop the cork from the top of the bottle. "This shouldn't sting."

With that, he upended the bottle over the center of the wound and let a half dozen fat, pearly drops land squarely on the puncture.

At first, Harry thought it hadn't worked, but then with surprising speed, the potion took effect. The red streaks of blood poisoning retracted towards the actual laceration, which was also shrinking. The hideous cracks around the edge of the wound melted away. Less than ten seconds after the potion had touched his skin, all that remained of the terrible wound was a faint white scar standing out against his pale skin. He lifted his arm and rotated his shoulder joint once. The pain was gone.

He glanced up to look at Malfoy, who, for the first time since Harry could remember, was actually smiling. Not smirking, not gloating, not sneering in someone's face for his own pleasure, but actually smiling. He startled when he caught Harry staring at him strangely and rapidly changed the smile back into his well-practiced smirk.

"I told you I knew what I was doing, Potter." He folded his arms across his chest proudly.

"Actually, you told me to trust you." It was a very simple statement with no undertones.

Draco slapped his hand on the floor. "You know full well what I mean, Potter. My potions skills are second to none. I'll bet you wouldn't even have a bloody clue what the key ingredient in it is."

Harry didn't hesitate. "Phoenix tears."

The smirk disappeared. "How the hell did you know that? Phoenix tears are expensive and quite hard to come by. You don't cover potions using the tears as an ingredient until seventh year, and then you only use them in the advanced class and the Medicinal Potions class."

Harry's pleasure at going one-up on Malfoy faded at the memory. His face dropped and his voice became impassive. "That wasn't the first time I had to be healed using phoenix tears."

Draco was honestly curious, but he tipped his nose up in the air and looked down along it. "Oh, and what sort of valiant deed were performing to get yourself that chopped up?"

"I got myself into a fight with a basilisk."

Draco's nose came down. "That's impossible. First, if you had done that, you'd be dead," he said with attempted conviction, "and second, there are no basilisks left. Not in this part of the world."

"Well, not anymore."

Draco considered this. Potter wasn't putting on airs, he wasn't trying to show off. He actually seemed pained by the thought. "You're not kidding, are you?"

Harry shook his head. "I wish I was."

It didn't hurt to ask, did it? "Well? What happened?"

"You remember that glorious monster that went about petrifying everyone our second year? That's what it was."

Some of the colour drained from Draco's already fair skin. "There . . . there was a basilisk in Hogwarts?"

"You didn't know about it? I figured your father would have bragged about the whole thing."

Draco didn't really hear the last comment. He was too wrapped up in trying to rationalize to himself that there couldn't possibly have been a real, live basilisk at Hogwarts. "That's impossible. The victims were petrified, not killed. A basilisk would have just killed its victims."

"It was only luck that kept anyone from actually being killed. Nobody looked into its eyes directly, but caught it from reflections and such."

Draco still wasn't paying attention. In fact, he was beginning to feel a bit queasy. "Whatever was inside the Chamber was only supposed to kill Mudbloods. A basilisk... that would have killed anyone."

"Gee, now you're thinking." Potter smirked.

"It was in Hogwarts," Draco mumbled to himself, dumbfounded. "A basilisk in Hogwarts. It could have killed me."

"And to think... your father was the one who let that monster loose. Doesn't that make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?"

Draco seemed to finally notice the other boy again. "My father would never have put me at risk!"

"Your father started the whole thing with that bloody diary!" Harry's eyes flashed angrily.

"He couldn't have known what was inside the Chamber," Draco said, trying to convince himself more than anyone else. "Otherwise, he never would have done that with me at the school."

"Sure, he wouldn't have."

Draco shot Harry a look of pure venom.

Harry merely sighed and shook his head. "Whatever lets you sleep better at night."

The Slytherin held his breath for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. "So just how did you end up in a tangle with the basilisk?"

Harry tested his weight on his shoulder and leaned back, propping himself up on his hands. "Ron and I went down into the Chamber after Ginny. We couldn't just leave her there."

"That bloody Gryffindor courage, right?"

"It has nothing to do with courage, Malfoy," he spat back, "and everything to do with just not being able to let a friend die. Ginny was innocent, and got dragged into the whole mess because of an underhanded scheme of your father's. We couldn't leave her, but then, you wouldn't understand things like that."

Draco sniffed. "It wouldn't be my fault if some silly little girl was too stupid to know what kind of magic she was messing with, and too weak to stand up to it. I shouldn't have to risk my life to go protecting someone like that."

"And I wouldn't expect a person like you to do that either." Harry tipped his head towards Malfoy. "That's what friends are for, Malfoy. They stand up for you when you need them, and you do that for them in return. Friends are a strength, not a weakness."

"They are when they almost get you killed by a basilisk."

"I'd risk it again for her in a heartbeat."

Potter spoke with such sincerity that Draco found himself blinking. "So, what happened down there?"

Pursing his lips, he took a deep breath and started, "Well, when I got there, Ginny was almost dead. Voldemort took my wand and..."

"You-Know-Who was there?" Draco made no attempt to cover his reaction.

Potter nodded. "A memory of him, in the diary, was using Ginny's life and draining into himself. He seems to like doing things like that. If he had finished it, Ginny would have died, and we'd have two Voldemorts running around now. Isn't it lovely?"

"That's just more proof of how powerful he is."

"Whatever." Potter was obviously not impressed. "He called the basilisk and turned it loose on me. It would have had me too, if Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, hadn't taken out its eyes."

Draco wrinkled his upper lip in distaste. "Saved by a ruddy songbird? That's a tale and a half."

"Suit yourself, Malfoy. Didn't really matter though. That thing was still plenty deadly. I didn't have my wand, so I ended up in a bit of a swordfight with it."

"A swordfight? With a basilisk?" Draco asked incredulously. "Before I even start on how insane that sounds, how in the name of Bloody Merlin's Beard did you get a sword?"

"Er..." Potter twisted his lip. "The Sorting Hat."

Draco scooted around towards Potter and poked him in the back of his head a couple of times. "Hmm..."

"Hey, what are you doing?" Harry batted at him.

"Just wondering how hard you hit your head. You've bloody cracked if you expect me to believe that."

Potter swung around and faced Draco. "You asked. I'm just telling you, although I don't have a clue why I'd humour you with the story. Either you want to know what happened or you don't."

Draco rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Alright, so I want to know."

With a brief nod, he continued. "It's pretty simple, really. I had no idea how to use a sword, and even less of a clue how to use it on something so large. It lunged, mouth open, and I just reacted. The sword went through the top of its head."

Draco's stomach started to twist in a knot. That was impossible. Absolutely impossible. "You killed a basilisk with a sword? The only reason I'm going to say I believe you is because I don't think you're clever enough to make up such a ridiculous story."

"Your confidence is overwhelming," Potter said neutrally.

"Wait, so if the basilisk was already dead, then how did you get injured? I thought you said you were saved by phoenix tears."

Potter snorted. "Yeah, will the bloody thing just had to have a last say, so while I was driving the sword through its head, it drove a fang through my arm. The basilisk fell over and the fang broke off still stuck in my arm. I'll have to say, it stung a fair bit."

"You were bitten by a basilisk. Oh brilliant, Potter. Heroic to the last," Draco mocked. "So where the hell did you get phoenix tears in a pinch like that? You couldn't have had more than a minute."

"Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix." Potter shrugged. "I had pretty much accepted the fact that I was about to die, but Fawkes got there just in time."

Draco sat back and examined Potter thoughtfully. That story would have seemed ludicrous had it come from anybody else, for some reason, Draco believed him. "Potter, either that's the best lie I've ever heard, or you're just the luckiest bastard that ever lived. Do you still have the scar?"

Harry automatically brought his hand up to cover his forehead. "What?"

"Not that one, you prat. The one on your arm, from the basilisk. I want to see it."

Harry quirked an eyebrow. Why on earth would Malfoy want to see something like that? To see if the story had been the truth? Fine, let him see for himself. Harry sat forward and rolled up the sleeve over his right forearm. The phoenix tears had almost faded it completely away, but the traces of the puncture were still there, like an irregularly shaped starburst standing out against his normal skin tone, white over pale. He held out his arm towards Malfoy, and nearly gasped in shock when the boy grasped his arm just above the abrasions on his wrist and pulled it closer so he could look in the soft torch light.

Malfoy's face deepened into a curious scowl as he ran a finger across the scar. "Just how big was the fang?"

"Maybe about fifteen centimeters long to where it broke off."

Draco nodded, but didn't release his arm. "Where did you get that one?"

"What..?" Harry's jaw dropped as he realized what Malfoy was looking at. It was the thin line just at the bend of his arm where Wormtail had cut him. He jerked his arm out of Malfoy's hands and slid backwards a few inches. "It's nothing."

Draco jumped at the sudden and apparently excessive reaction to his question. It was obviously very much something, and even more plainly something that had Potter upset. Of course, this only served to make Draco even more fascinated. "Spill it, Potter."

Potter's face was very dark as he squinted back at Draco, still without his glasses. "I said it was nothing. Now go on and lock me back in here like a good little captor."

Draco's jaw had started to sag downwards at Potter's sudden change in demeanor. He quickly snapped it back up. Had he just been dismissed again?

After the pattern of the conversation, that hadn't been what he'd expected, but then, why was he expecting anything? All he was doing was nosing into Potter's private business to satisfy his own curiosities. Know thy enemy, know thyself. His father had often said that, so perhaps this is what he meant. Be that the case, Draco was merely serving to fulfill a lesson his father had taught him so long ago.

Still, the exchange had left him wanting to know more. The knowledge that his further curiosities would go unanswered tonight settled dug at him like an invisible splinter, irritating at every movement. He'd spent all his life trying to get under Potter's skin, and here was the chance to get into his mind. There would be more than enough time to pick apart Potter's brain, so why push the issue now? Because he was curious. Merlin's beard, he was actually curious.

Hoping to save some face after such an abrupt dismissal, Draco replaced the time-worn scowl of self-assurance and stood smoothly. "Most certainly. Goodnight."

He bent back down and retrieved the box of potions, moved slowly out of the cell, and swung the door shut. The sound of metal colliding with metal echoed coldly through the corridors. Draco balanced the box against his hip and reached into the pocket of his robe for the key. As he fitted it into the lock, he peeked up at Potter.

The boy was already settled back against the wall in the same spot where he had stayed last night. His shoulders were slumped at his sides; his knees were pulled up in front of him. The messy black hair at the back of his head was pressed straight up against the wall, and his face was tipped towards the ceiling. His glasses were still tucked on his collar, but his eyes were closed. His face was neutral, exhausted, and still covered with streaks of grime from the poor job he had done of wiping it. Physically, he looked every bit the prisoner he was supposed to be, but raw appearances are deceiving.

Despite the bruise and the dirt, his features were suffused with a sort of quiet strength, and Draco suddenly remembered what had made him so hesitant to enter the cell in the first place. As much as he wanted to convince himself otherwise, he was dealing with a very strong wizard on the other side of the bars. It scared him to have to admit that. Power deserves respect; Draco had always said it himself, but he had never considered that statement being applied to Potter.

It was a healthy sort of respect, Draco decided. One should never underestimate the enemy, and Potter was no exception. That's all. With a sigh, he looked back down at the key.

It was then that Potter spoke, very softly, unpretentiously, "Thank you."

Draco brought his eyes back up, pressed his lips together, and clenched his teeth lightly. He squeezed his eyes shut, and without really considering why, he whispered, "You're welcome."

With that, Draco turned the key in the lock with a light 'click,' and returned to his chair for the night. He set the box down lightly. He would call Biddy to retrieve it later. For now, he didn't want to speak. Even the soft jangling of the potion bottles was too loud to his ears. His mind was numb with a flood of watery thoughts, just beyond the bounds of mental cohesion. He was positively bone-weary in so many ways.

Reaching into the folds of his robe, Draco withdrew a flask filled his Sleepless Nights draught, unscrewed the cap, and took a swig. Instantly, he felt the weariness in his limbs vanish and his heavy eyelids snap back up, but his mind continued to swirl.

Biddy came down with food and another pot of tea. Without really noticing her presence, Draco instructed her to bring the box of potions back to his storage closet and thanked her. He didn't have any attention he could seem to spare for house elves. His flood of thoughts had turned into a churning sea. Now, it seemed his life-raft had been cut loose of the shore, and he was drifting without a light to guide him.

 

*********

 


	5. Nothing to Lose

_The rope that's wrapped around me is cutting through my skin  
And the doubts that have surrounded me are finding their way in.  
I keep it close to me, Like a holy man prays.  
In my desperate hour_ , _It's better that way.  
(~Melissa Etheridge)_

Draco spent a long, difficult night wrestling with the slew of thoughts, questions, and images that danced unceasingly through his mind. He was desperately trying to make some sense of them all, and failing miserably. There was something strange about Potter, something tenacious, intense, and utterly infuriating, and whatever it was had left Draco dangling from a noose of his own design.

Over the years, he'd told himself he wanted nothing more than to see Potter helpless, trapped, tormented, receiving every bit of punishment Draco had ever felt the other boy deserved. Then he could watch Potter break down. It would be all the proof he needed, to see how pathetic Harry Potter really was, how worthy of scorn, how weak without the rest of the world bending down to kiss his arse. Not once had he considered that he might be wrong; that Harry might have that strength all on his own, and a tenacity Draco was unable to counter.

Harry Potter had been a permanent resident of Draco's most intense thoughts for years. Until now, he had never let himself dwell on the reasons why Potter was such a driving force behind his actions and motives. It had just been the daily routine; wake up, brush teeth, go to class, harass Potter. However, with the current situation weighing heavily on him, he berated himself for not having realized the extent of this problem. It had been a complete obsession, and that obsession was bound to get to him eventually. He had known it all along; he just hadn't admitted it to himself. Somehow, he'd always known.

The only way he was going to be able to sort any of this out would be to talk to Potter for himself, question him, get into his head. The official reason for his assigned guard duty became secondary to his new personal mission. He wanted to know why that little scar on his arm was such a sensitive topic. He wanted to know how the _hell_ Potter could be so nonchalant when he spoke of the Dark Lord. Mostly, underneath it all, he needed to know why he found the boy fascinating.

Until now, his fascination had been from the outside, looking in. Draco's interactions with others, even his family, had always been impersonal. With Potter, he had bridged that gap, even if inadvertently. Now that he'd had a taste of the inside view, he wanted more. Needed more.

He could scarcely admit even to himself that he'd had a conversation with Potter, but that's exactly what it had been; a civil conversation. It had left him jittery, like a child who had just discovered the candy jar hidden in the back of the pantry; afraid that he'd be caught, yet unable to resist the temptation of the sweet things hidden there. He replayed the entire dialogue over in his head, repeatedly, and found that his stomach would jump around uncomfortably at certain points in the conversation.

When Harry had dared him to say the Dark Lord's name, it had scared him without a doubt, but thinking back on it made his breath catch tightly in his throat. He had felt a strange prickle along his scalp when Potter had whispered, "Thank you," and a harsh jolt whenever he'd been unfortunate enough to be caught by one of those intense gazes; eyes that seemed to drill through his brain, to a part of him he didn't want to acknowledge. When he'd grabbed Harry's wrist, or as he'd stopped Harry from falling over backwards when the injuries threatened to cause him to pass out again, the physical contact had felt strange to Draco, like touching a live wire.

Draco cut off the memory of the touch as quickly as possible. Even with his family, physical contact was limited and impersonal. Closeness just wasn't a part of his life, but who would have expected that such a brief contact, with a person he'd been sworn to hate, could put a vulnerable little crack the barricades he'd erected around the part of him that required warmth, touch, and human emotion? Those things just didn't belong in the life of a Malfoy. There was no place for it. It was a liability.

There was a certain way things worked in the world. Draco knew this; he'd taken care to learn his lessons, and he trusted his father. However, his perfect little applecart was now running into some very deep holes in the road, and who on earth would have guessed that Potter would be the one to dig them? Little things, things that anyone else would have missed, were beginning to turn his world upside down. Or, on second thought, perhaps his world was still upright and he, himself had been overturned.

Regardless, he found himself falling inescapably towards a harsh realization. They weren't so different, he and Harry, not really. He insisted to himself that the idea was ludicrous, night and day, Slytherin and Gryffindor. Of course, there were differences, most of which put him at a disadvantage, much to his chagrin, but the similarities were the object of his attention now. His curiosity would no longer let the issue disappear on its own. He had to know more. Of course, if he wanted any chance not to completely blow it, he would have to tread very carefully indeed.

Somewhere in this mess, a new valuable lesson was dangling in front of his face, bait on a particularly nasty hook, but he knew that to miss this lesson, not to bite, would be unforgivable. He spent the night trying to decipher the lesson, to get one step ahead.

However, as he stared at Harry through the night, he only came to one conclusion with any certainty. Harry had not been asleep the night before.

Last night, Harry had been perfectly still, not twitching, not turning over, tucked up neatly against the wall. It would have been a very convincing act too, had it not been for tonight's performance. At some point this time around, Harry must have finally drifted off to sleep. It appeared sleep for Harry was a restless sort of thing, and he was soon tossing and turning on the dungeon floor, muttering to himself, calling out occasionally, caught in the grips of some nightmare. In the slurred words, Draco could make out names, and he began to take meticulous mental notes of the emotions displayed with each new name, each one being a window Potter was opening, unknowingly, into his subconscious.

First, Harry cried out for his Mother. _Oh, the poor little boy, he lost his mummy._ Draco had expected tears to accompany these cries, something pathetic and laughable to Draco's mind. He hadn't been prepared for the raw fury he saw instead. Despite a complete and comprehensive lack of proof, Draco was quite certain that Harry was dreaming of the Dark Lord, the cause of his parents' deaths. Tears, he could have laughed at tears. This, on the other hand, scared him. At one point, Harry hissed in pain, his hand snapping up to his forehead, causing Draco to jump.

Not long after that, Draco caught the names of Ron and Hermione. _Worried about the Mudblood and the Weasel, no doubt, as well he should be. When the Dark Lord begins his systematic revenge with the destruction of Hogwarts, they'll be amongst the first to die._ Where he should have been pleased with that knowledge, instead it left his face pinched and his chest strangely hollow. Voldemort killed wantonly and recklessly, and although Draco had told himself many times that he wanted the school to be rid of Mudbloods, the complete destruction of Hogwarts, and the deaths of so many students seemed excessively violent, even to him. It was his school too.

Harry's hand slammed against the ground, though he remained asleep, growling, "No! Not them, not them... Me. Take me... Can't... just make it worse... No! My fault... all my fault..."

Draco's eyebrows knitted together and he leaned forward in his seat, hunching over his knees. Harry continued to moan, and as he rolled to his side and back again, Draco could see spots of moisture on his clothes from the condensation on the stone floor. The sleeping arrangements were definitely uncomfortable, but it seemed apparent that the dreams were worse. Although he could only guess at the images dancing through Harry's mind, Draco felt he was beginning to construct a fairly good synopsis of it.

"Won't let him... use me... get to them. Not goin' to use me... rather die."

Draco was unaware that his lower jaw was beginning to drop open, and that his breathing was becoming erratic as he became totally absorbed in watching this unfold.

"Not them... him or me... alone... up to me... don't kill... don't want this... my fault. All my fault. Sirius!"

With a violent lurch, Harry flipped over onto his stomach and woke up, still gasping. When he realized where he was, he slapped his hands onto the floor with a grunt and raked his fingers across the stone surface as if they were claws, and he were a enormous cat tearing at a plush carpet, before pushing himself slowly to his hands and knees. He kept his head lowered, but Draco could still see the muscles bunching up at the corner of his jaw.

As though completely unaware of the rest of his surroundings, Harry heaved himself back to his spot by the wall, rubbing just beneath a lump in his breast pocket. He reached into the folds of cloth and pulled out his glasses, which, after his night of thrashing about, seemed even more mangled than before. He was about to put them on when he realized how badly they were damaged. With a grunt of irritation, he began to delicately bend and twist the frames into something that might stay on his face.

All the while, he was completely ignoring the boy on the outside of the cell, staring in at him intently.

Draco wasn't going to be the one to speak first. He refused. It would be damaging to his dignity to give in to his curiosities like that, to admit aloud that he actually wanted to talk to Potter.

Harry moved the earpiece of his glasses back and forth on the hinge, producing a high pitched squeak.

Draco bit his lower lip. His questions were pushing at him, demanding attention, and much to his irritation, Potter was still ignoring him.

Fiddling with the nose pad, then once again with the earpieces, Harry screwed up his face in concentration, continuing to pay no attention to Malfoy.

Draco squirmed.

Harry checked the lenses of his glasses against the faint light from the dungeon torches, and shook his head. He pulled out the edge of his shirt and wiped the lenses on it, pointlessly, because you can't wipe away scratches and his shirt was as filthy as the glass. When he finally held them out in front of him again, they were every bit as bad as before, but he sighed in resignation and settled them onto his face. He leaned back against the wall with a heavy thud, and the broken glasses fell off on to his lap.

"Potter, just give me the bloody glasses!" Draco hadn't realized he had spoken until after the words were out of his mouth.

Harry had already begun trying to balance the damaged eyeglasses on his face again when he heard Draco's words and froze. He dropped his right hand so he could see Draco without having to turn his head, still holding the glasses to his face with his left. "What?"

"You're driving me crazy messing with those things," he said impatiently. "Just let me fix them and be done with it."

Harry let his left hand, still holding the glasses, fall into his lap. "Oh, so now it's Mr. Nice Guy, coming to fix everything? You can't play 'good-cop, bad-cop' when you're only one cop, Malfoy."

"What's 'good-cop, bad-cop'?" Draco seemed authentically confused.

"Never mind, it's a Muggle thing."

Draco rolled his eyes. "It figures."

Harry leaned forward, challenging. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco clenched his teeth for a moment. _Don't irritate him if you want to question him,_ he reminded himself. "Forget it. Do you want your glasses fixed or not?"

"I can fix them myself," Harry said obstinately.

"Do you have to make something this simple into a bloody debate? Your glasses are broken, and I offered to fix them."

Harry snatched his glasses from his lap and shoved them roughly onto his face. "They're fine," he snapped.

The glasses tumbled back into his lap.

Draco's face twisted up as a laugh threatened to burst from him.

Harry tried to scowl. The truncated laugh from Draco should have only encouraged that scowl, but as Harry glanced down at the glasses lying in his lap, then back at Draco who was now laughing openly, the corners of his frown shifted into an embarrassed sort of grin. He found himself chuckling dryly; he had to admit, it was a bit silly.

When Draco stopped laughing, he finally asked, "So are you going to give me your glasses or not?"

Harry took a steadying breath and let his shoulders droop. "What have I got to lose?"

Raising an eyebrow as he stood, Draco pondered this. Indeed, what did he have to lose? What did either of them have to lose? He took a step towards the cell, but then reconsidering, reached back and dragged the chair along behind him to sit it next to the bars.

Harry regarded him curiously, but conceded to lean across and hand the glasses through the bars.

Draco appraised the damage as he settled back into his chair. "You did one hell of a job on these."

"I don't think I caused most of the damage myself," Harry said cynically.

Draco nodded as he turned the glasses over in his hands, before announcing in a blunt tone, "You caused some of it." He pulled out his wand and prodded the glasses with them lightly. _"Reparo."_

With a faint snapping sound, the glasses sat perfectly restored in Draco's hand. He smiled in approval of his handiwork, and then passed them back through the bars to Harry.

Settling the glasses back on his face, he thanked Draco with a silent nod. It wasn't much, but it was an acknowledgement. "What do you mean, that I caused some of the damage myself?" he asked, trying to keep his voice nonchalant, to disguise the curiosity and slight confusion.

Draco tipped his head. "You weren't even aware of it? Tossing and turning all night while you slept, you probably rolled over on them a few times. What were you dreaming about?"

If Harry had started to relax at all, he wasn't now. His back and shoulders went rigid and his expression turned to stone. "What?" he whispered. Of course, Harry knew he talked in his sleep. Both Dudley and Ron had confirmed this, but still, what on earth might he have said in front of _Malfoy_? He'd rather let Dudley stand over him at night with a tape recorder than let Malfoy hear one word of his private thoughts, but there was nothing he could do. No matter how hard he tried not to, he'd fall asleep eventually, exposing his thoughts unconsciously to Malfoy, stuck there like some animal on display for the benefit of his captor. Now he really knew how the snake at the zoo had felt.

"You were talking in your sleep," Draco continued, reminding himself to tread carefully if he wanted any sort of answer. "Thrashing pretty violently, too, might I add."

"Well, the dungeon floor isn't exactly the best place for sweet dreams, now is it?"

"Would you like a teddy bear, Potter?" He couldn't resist.

"Shut up, Malfoy!"

"Touchy!" Draco leaned back in mock-surprise.

"What did you expect, Malfoy?" Harry snarled. "For me to gush all my dreams to you? Fat chance. I did that enough in Trelawney's class, and all she ever did was remind me of just how soon I was going to die. Well, we already know the answer to that question now, don't we?"

Draco flinched inwardly. Wrong approach. Definitely the wrong approach. He weighed his next words out carefully. "Well, seeing as you were hollering people's names all night, I'll admit I'm a little curious about what you were dreaming about, in addition to whom."

"Names? I don't remember," Harry replied guardedly.

Draco watched Harry's impassive face through narrowed eyes. A little prod, perhaps? "Something about your mother..."

"Don't you EVER speak about my parents," Harry said with such force that Draco sat back in his chair, verbally stunned.

"God, Potter, I wasn't insulting her, I was only trying to jog your memory, which is apparently quite short."

"My memory is quite good, thank you very much."

"Was that Sirius Black you were yelling for? Isn't he. . .?"

"SHUT UP!" Harry howled, baring his teeth like a wounded animal, and for the first time since he'd been captured, displaying any trace of emotional weakness. "Just SHUT UP about him! You have no right... You can't say..." His voice broke.

Sitting there, at a loss for words, Harry tried to bury the thoughts away, tried to forget. There was nothing he could do, either about Malfoy, or about Sirius. Both were currently well beyond his reach, although he would most gladly exchange their places if he could. Just like everything else, all his life, all he could do was stand strong and handle this on his own. One thing was for certain though, that he would _not_ break down in front of Malfoy. That was the last thing he would ever do. He'd held his ground for this long; he wasn't about to give up. Never give up. Not now, not ever. He steadied his breathing and stared at the far wall, wishing he could make himself invisible, waiting for Malfoy to seize the opportunity of this sudden weakness and pounce.

Draco, however, had also found himself at a loss for words, but for an entirely different reason. He usually wanted to make Harry upset, wanted to infuriate him, but this was different. This time, he hadn't meant to do it, and had completely failed in his attempt _not_ to anger the boy.

Of course, Draco knew Black had died, even though it hadn't been public knowledge; Black had been a relative of his mother's, albeit one who had fallen from favour. He also knew Black had also once been a friend of the Potters, and from somewhere in his memory, he'd been dimly aware that Sirius was Harry's godfather. Was that it? Potter was still in _mourning_? But hadn't Black been the one who betrayed the Potters? Wait, no, that was the public knowledge. His father had mentioned once that Black had been framed, which made sense, as the man had never supported Voldemort. Did Potter know all this? Was it yet another loss of family for the Boy Who Lived? Strange.

Draco's train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of breakfast.

"Good morning, Master Malfoy, sir!" greeted Biddy cheerfully. "Here is your breakfast, Master Malfoy, sir! And a note from Mistress Malfoy." The house elf indicated a small roll of parchment on the tray. "Will Master Malfoy be needing anything else, sir?"

Draco shook his head and motioned with his hand to dismiss the elf. With a deep bow, Biddy left the dungeons. Casting a brief glance at Potter, Draco reached for the letter.

_"Draco, although officially I still have to claim not to know where you are, the Ministry is naturally quite suspicious, and I expect them to arrive to search the Manor tomorrow. You father will be arriving tonight. You will accompany the prisoner to the Dark Lord's base of operations in the north, and will continue to have the honour of guarding the prisoner. Give Biddy a list of the things you will require while there. I am assigning her completely to you for now to take care of your needs. You've made your father and me quite proud."_

No warmth, just business. It was no surprise. That was his mother's way with things. For her to mention her pride in Draco was an extravagant compliment coming from her. He probably wouldn't see her before he left with Potter. Shrugging that off, Draco focused on the matter at hand.

The order to evacuate the Manor was also no surprise. It had to happen, Draco knew. His father hadn't been staying at the Manor, and with Draco and Harry being the two people missing, of course Malfoy Manor would be searched, and as such, Potter would have to be moved. He hadn't been sure if he would be allowed to continue his guard duties once Potter had been moved, and now he was grateful for this in more than one way. First, it meant he had gained at least a shred of acceptance amongst the ranks of the Dark Lord's followers, but also, and in his mind, more importantly, he would have the continued opportunity to speak to Potter.

He rolled the note back up and set it down on the floor. A second later, it burst into flames.

Harry eyed him with dark curiosity.

"No evidence," Draco tried to explain.

Potter merely grunted in reply.

"Right then," Draco mumbled to himself, as he reached for the breakfast tray and began piling food onto two plates.

"How did you know?" Harry asked quietly.

Draco's head shot up. "About what?"

"About... Sirius." His voice was weak and choked on the last word. "It wasn't public knowledge."

"Well," Draco set the plate down. "My family does tend to have inside information, as you know. Always have. Besides, even though he was labeled as a traitor, he was distantly related to my mother."

"Distantly," Harry snorted in contempt. "They were first cousins. That's not exactly distant, although I'd say _he_ deserved better family. The very thought of being related to _you._ "

"Me?"

"Don't be stupid. If he was your mother's cousin, then you're related to him too, you know."

"I suppose. I've never bothered to consider it."

"Of course you've never considered it," Harry said coldly.

"He was a traitor to the bloodline, so it didn't really matter." Draco didn't like the fact that he was unsure where this conversation was going, there were only so many possibilities, and none were exactly pleasant.

"I should have known to expect an attitude like that from you." Harry folded his arms across his chest. "To people like you, family is something you can discard the instant it becomes inconvenient, or threatens to tarnish your bloody image."

Of course, that concept was all too familiar to Harry, having been told all his life that he was nothing but a nuisance, a burden to his aunt and uncle. He was good for nothing, and should have been ignored the day he was placed on the doorstep. Hidden from the world, verbally disowned. By now, it was easy for Harry to ignore the pain that would hit most people upon thinking that their family cared nothing for them. He had grown up with it. However, Malfoy hadn't.

Draco sat there stone-faced, but inwardly stunned. "No, it's not like that."

"No, Malfoy. That's exactly what it's like. If you're not half as brainwashed as I once thought you were, you'd see it plainly."

"He was a traitor," Draco repeated vaguely, but underneath it, he knew Harry was right, down to the last detail. The honour of the family name must be upheld above any individual. That's just how things work. However, the way Harry had said it, the concept took on a whole new dimension in Draco's mind.

"He had his own ideas, Malfoy. Mostly the problem seems to be that he actually cared about people. That made him an inconvenience, a blemish, and then his own family saw fit to wipe his name from the family tree. Is that how it is with people like you, Malfoy? They disown their relatives the instant they become inconvenient?"

Draco's mouth felt dry. He sat back slowly, thinking. Of course a person who brought dishonor to the family would be disowned. Cast aside, because people had no value beyond their particular usefulness to the family name. Draco tried to bury the thought, but it kept bubbling beneath the surface. He had tried to ignore so many things in the past few days that his brain could forget no more.

His time of trial was coming soon, and he could feel it. If he faltered, if he made a mistake, if he failed, would be cast aside just as wantonly? Meaningless to his family? No... his father would never... would he? Besides, he was a true Malfoy. He wouldn't waver, wouldn't make any mistakes.

He gave the idea one last resolute shove out of his way, and replied. "You don't know a damn thing about preserving the honour of a bloodline. Some people haven't earned the surnames they carry, haven't lived up to them. I, however, have. My family does. A name can be a burden."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Draco and gave him a thin, nasty smile. "So proud to be a Malfoy, are you?"

Draco tipped his chin up. "Absolutely. My surname has a proud heritage. It actually stands for something."

"And what exactly does the Malfoy name stand for?" He looked positively malicious.

"The finest wizarding traditions, purity of blood, honour..."

"Some tradition," Harry cut him off with a sharp sneer. "What good is a family tradition if family doesn't matter?"

Not wanting to hear this, not at all, Draco snapped back. "It matters plenty! But that doesn't mean you still don't have to earn you place."

"Ah, I see," Harry nodded slowly, as though pondering this profoundly. "So, Sirius didn't earn his place by your standards, didn't measure up, so he's worthless. Anyone who isn't the perfect model of a pureblooded, Muggle-hating, Voldemort-worshipping, Slytherin isn't worth a damn thing, right?"

"You're such a bloody Gryffindor, Potter. Chivalrous, standing up for everyone."

"Oh, so I suppose it's a Slytherin thing not to care about anyone but yourself?"

"Something like that," Draco replied dryly. "And you're a Gryffindor. I wouldn't expect you to be able to understand what it means to defend a family name."

Harry froze. The funny thing was, he _did_ understand. He hated the way families like the Malfoys worked, he would never take part in something like that, but he understood what Draco was saying. He was proud of his own family name, too. He'd defended it... and he'd been so hurt when he'd realized that not even the Potter name stood blameless.

Looking back on what little he knew of his family, he remembered his own mixed feelings when he had stepped into Snape's memory. Thinking of what his father and Sirius had done, he _was_ almost embarrassed of their behavior, to think that Snape hated the Potter name because of his father's actions. Actions that had seemed strangely Slytherin in their manner. Very Slytherin, actually. He blinked, swallowed. "I almost wasn't," he whispered.

"What are you talking about, Potter?"

"A Gryffindor. I almost wasn't a Gryffindor." His head toppled forward. He seemed almost ashamed of himself.

At this, Draco's mouth opened in surprise, and then he slowly leaned forward, watching Harry very closely. "How could you _almost_ not be in a certain house? The Sorting Hat just chooses one based on what you have, or don't have, between your ears."

"It was going to put me into another house, and I'd heard some stuff about that house, and wanted nothing to do with it."

"Potter, you're _not_ going to tell me what I think you're going to tell me."

Harry nodded, and his voice became slightly distant, as though pulling the words from a vague memory, which of course he was. " _You could be great you know. It's all here, inside your head, and Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness_ ," he quoted. "That's what the Sorting Hat said to me."

"Then why the hell did it put you in Gryffindor?"

"I asked it not to put me in Slytherin."

"Why?" Draco's voice was a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

"Two reasons, I guess." Harry sighed and wrapped his arms around his legs in front of him, staring at the floor. "Firstly, I'd heard that all the wizards that went Dark had been in Slytherin. Secondly," he looked up and caught Draco with his eyes, "You'd already been sorted into that house. Priority not necessarily in that order."

Draco looked back at Harry, dumbfounded. There was no reason to believe Potter was lying. He actually seemed ashamed of the prospect of being a Slytherin, as though such a thing was an embarrassment. The fact that Draco was part of the reason Harry was so repulsed by the Slytherin house just made the idea even more infuriating. Simultaneously, the idea of them almost having been in the same house was... was...

The Sorting Hat didn't lie. It knew. It knew things about people, things they didn't even know about themselves, and for some reason, it had thought Harry was suited to Slytherin, with Draco. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but it answered at least one of the questions pressing against Draco's mind. He and Potter weren't all that different, not really. Now that he had that answer, he wasn't sure whether he liked it or not. Regardless, the implications were undeniable.

Looking at Harry now, Draco was forced to recognize the boy as something he had never seen before, or at least, had never allowed himself to acknowledge; Potter was an equal. He would never admit that aloud, of course, but he knew it. It also forced a card Draco found himself playing more often than he liked these past few days; respect.

In another corner of Draco's brain, the other part of what Harry had said was beginning to resonate uncomfortably. He had driven Harry to hate Slytherin before Harry had even been sorted... and it bothered him. He wasn't really _that_ offensive, was he? "You barely knew me, and you'd already decided you hated me. Isn't that judgmental on your part?"

Harry pursed his lips. "The first time I'd ever met you, all you did was make snide remarks about Hagrid, and how anyone who wasn't a pureblood shouldn't be allowed to live, never mind go to school. You boasted that you were going to make the quidditch team, and then you asked my surname as though that decided everything there was to know about me."

"That... that was at Madam Malkin's. You... actually remembered that?"

"I guess my memory isn't so short after all."

"No, I guess not." Draco nodded slowly. "I remember too."

The brief silence that followed was an unspoken admission of something they'd always known. Since the very beginning, they'd established each other as rivals, as marked men. Nobody else dug under Draco's skin like Harry, nobody boiled Harry's blood like Draco. They'd been there since the start, mirroring each other, their rivalry acting as an almost tangible, constant companion.

In a perverse way, Draco realized that were he to lose that, he would miss it, like some part of himself would be lost in that parting. He had been playing off of Harry for so long. He felt his breath catch as it struck him that he was indeed going to lose that companionship; Harry was going to die at the Dark Lord's hand very soon. It was his victory, Draco reminded himself. He should be thrilled, but now, he really wasn't too sure.

It was crazy. He had won. It was what he'd always wanted, since the day he'd extended his hand to Potter, only to be snubbed.

Snubbed. Right. Perhaps Potter was always more Slytherin than he wanted to admit. In that moment, Harry had set the balance of the struggle between them with a very hefty load. The scales that had balanced their power-play had finally tipped, and it was only now, looking back, that Draco realized just how precariously balanced they'd been, what worthy opponents they were for each other.

But Draco hadn't been the one actually controlling this battle. He hadn't won. It was Voldemort's ultimate victory, while Draco was still struggling with his childish rivalry. Harry was like a king that had been carelessly toppled before the checkmate, with no stalemate. Voldemort was holding the power pieces, and Draco was the pawn used to corner Harry. Nothing more. It felt wrong to see it end like this, that something was missing. It felt empty.

Draco sighed, looked over at the breakfast tray, and absently enquired, "Tea?"

"I already told you," Harry replied softly. "I don't like..."

"...tea without sugar," Draco finished for him. "You already told me. Just being polite."

"Why don't you drink it?"

Draco allowed himself a small smile as he looked up at Harry. "Because I don't like it without sugar either."

Harry peered back at Draco with more than a little bit of incredulity, but finally allowed himself to smile back in amusement. "You could call Biddy and ask for sugar, you know."

"Now why didn't I think of that?" Draco muttered sarcastically.

Harry tipped his head back. "Too busy antagonizing me, probably."

"Can you think of a better pastime?" Draco smirked.

"Honestly..." Harry mused softly.

"Don't answer that." Draco poured a tumbler of pumpkin juice. "Marmalade or berry preserves?"

"Marmalade," Harry said easily.

"Not fighting every last thing I try to do now, are we?" True curiosity nibbled at the edge of his sarcasm.

Harry folded his arms across his chest, reclining slightly. "Why bother?"

Draco felt an inexplicably strong flash of hope. Well, perhaps not thoroughly inexplicable, he reasoned with himself. Perhaps Potter was softening up. The prospect of that was quite pleasing. "Starting to trust me or something, Potter?" he asked easily.

"No. Nor do I like you."

Although nothing obvious changed in Harry's demeanor, the undercurrent in his words caused Draco's stomach to twist as though a carpet had been pulled out sharply from underneath him. If he felt he had been gaining ground before, that sensation was gone in a heartbeat. "Potter, I figure I've been as cordial as possible under these conditions."

"You figured wrong. You handed me over to Voldemort to die, and don't think I'm not blatantly aware of it. Every time I see your face through these bars, I remember that you put me here."

"Fuck, Potter! I'm just doing my job!" Without considering the implications of his words, Draco continued to rant. "It's not as though I would even have a real choice in the matter! It's the Dark Lord's work, not my responsibility. I'm not killing anyone here!"

Harry's hard voice was a startling contrast to Draco's frantic tirade. "You _really_ think it's not your responsibility? Grow up and drop your happy little illusion, Malfoy. My blood is on your hands now, no matter how you look at it. That's something you can keep on your conscience for the rest of your life, if you even have a conscience. Which frankly, I doubt."

Draco looked down at his hands and quickly looked away again, balling them into fists and clenching his teeth.

"Worry about your family honour," Harry said in a mock-soothing tone. "It's what you're good at. I've got bigger problems, because if I die at Voldemort's hand, then everyone I ever cared about is going to follow. The ones who haven't been killed already, that is. I already feel responsible for enough deaths, but this time, you started it. You're the cause. The moment you stabbed that knife into my shoulder, you accepted the responsibility of not only my death, but theirs too. I hope you're proud of yourself."

Harry went silent for a moment and looked down, not so much deep in thought, as simply far, far away.

Draco bit his tongue. He hadn't killed anyone. Not him. Sure, someday, as a Death Eater, he might kill a few faceless Muggles and Mudbloods, but he had never actually thought about it. It was something in the far future, and it wasn't actually real. But this, it was blood on his hands... _his_ hands. The knife, in his hands, stabbing, poisoning, killing. This was here, this was now.

Finally, Harry broke the silence again himself. "Still, you were right about one thing. Starving myself won't do any good." His voice was deceptively casual, but Draco could still feel the tightly contained rage and bitterness hidden beneath the surface.

Just when thing had seemed to begin relaxing… Draco closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to look at Harry just then. He might have pulled the boy back from being a few centimeters short of death after Voldemort had finished playing with him, but Draco had put him there in the first place. He hated to make the admission, but he had no choice. Potter was right. Damned to die by Voldemort's hand, and Draco was the one holding the bloody chains.

But, for god's sake, what was he thinking? It was just his duty! He, Draco _Malfoy,_ was only doing his duty. How could even Potter blame him for that? Once this mess was all over, the confusion would disappear, his tradition-bound fate would be clear again, and he would be able to follow that path with an equally clear conscience. And yes, he had a conscience, damn it, but it was a Malfoy's conscience. He was still a Malfoy. A proud Malfoy.

However, it wasn't the Malfoy in him that suddenly found itself saying, "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not." Harry's reply wasn't harsh or bitter, just a mere statement of fact, but somehow, that made it much worse.

"I said it, didn't I?"

"Ever heard the phrase, 'actions speak louder than words,' Malfoy?" You're not sorry. I don't even think you're capable of being sorry."

"Then what the hell do you want, Potter?" Draco threw up his hands in exasperation.

"I think that should be obvious, even to you. I know you can't do it though. You'd never be able to, because your neck is more important than anyone else's."

Draco swallowed against his dry throat and attempted his best contemptuous sneer. "Oh, and I suppose I should put _your_ neck before mine?"

"Not just mine, you prat. Anyone's! When Hogwarts is destroyed, and it will if Voldemort has his way, how many of your friends will die? Or do you not have any real friends? Are they just people you use, in the true Malfoy style? Do they mean a damn thing to you, Malfoy?"

Draco's mind flashed to his housemates. Sure, they were his school companions, but his friends? He had grown up with Crabbe and Goyle, and had known quite a few of his housemates since they were children, but how close was he really to any of them? On a personal level? Closeness had never been part of the equation with his acquaintances, but still, he didn't want them to die. The possibility that they were at risk had never crossed his mind, but now, it seemed unavoidable.

Harry appraised the haunted look on Draco's face with cold approval. "It doesn't really matter. Though. You're too much of a bloody coward to risk yourself for them, even if you did care. That, and it would deprive you of the immeasurable satisfaction of seeing me dead. Doubtless that's the most important thing. You couldn't prove you're sorry. Even if you are; you can't do it."

Draco took a risk and let himself fully catch Harry's stare again. Those eyes were terribly expressive, taunting him, daring him, explaining to him more precisely than words all the hundreds of ways in which he was a coward, but this time, they were also searching him. It was almost indiscernible, but Draco knew Harry's face almost as well as he knew his own, and he could see it. Potter's eyebrows were furrowed just slightly, and his mouth was pulled tighter than it should have been. Under his outward expression of familiar defiance, Draco could see that Harry was begging him, hoping beyond reason, that Draco would say he was wrong. Somehow, Draco might just rise to the heated challenge, might want to prove he was sorry. Mind game or not, Draco felt himself almost wish he could have... but no.

He dropped the stare. "You're right. I can't. I can't be something I'm not, Potter, so don't try to bloody well fool yourself."

"I'm not fooling anybody, Malfoy. I know you can't do it." He spoke flatly, and this time Draco didn't dare to search Harry's eyes for another clue as to what he was feeling. Draco wasn't sure if he imagined the trace of disappointment in the voice.

Harry continued, "But don't fool yourself into thinking you can lay the blame on that bloody, royal Malfoy name. Your choices make you what you are." He laughed bitterly. You said it wasn't your choice. Bull shit, Malfoy. Even by not choosing a different path, you make the decision to be what you are. I _chose_ not to be a Slytherin. For you, Slytherin was exactly what you wanted; your choice. I've made the choices I wanted, whether I live or die. Your choices... are totally up to you."

Draco closed his eyes against waves of emotion welling up in them. Of course he wanted to be in Slytherin, noblest of the houses. Pureblooded, wealthy, powerful, and a Malfoy to boot, there was nowhere else he belonged. _Nowhere._ The possibility that he could be anywhere else had never really crossed his mind, just as his fate to follow in the family tradition had never come into question. It had never occurred to him that any sort of active choice was involved, and the possibility wasn't comfortable.

Without opening his eyes, he hollered, "Biddy!"

The house elf appeared with a crack. "Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir! What can Biddy do for you, Master Malfoy?"

"Biddy, please bring me a bowl of sugar and an extra spoon."

"Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir!"

Both boys waited in absolute silence until Biddy returned. "Is Master Malfoy wanting anything else of Biddy, sir?"

Draco considered this. "Yes, actually. One thing. Begin assembling a bag of my warmest basic cloaks and robes, and a few lighter ones, plus my basic toiletries. I'll call you later with a list of other particulars I need, but it must all be packed by tonight."

Biddy bowed obediently. "Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir!"

"You may go. Thank you."

Biddy disappeared, still holding the bow.

Without looking back at Harry, Draco asked, "One spoonful or two?"

Harry hesitated. Malfoy was avoiding any further discussion of the topic, which could only mean he was thinking about what he'd said. It seemed a tough stretch to be putting any sort of hope in the moral pangs of Draco Malfoy, but at the moment, it was the only shot he had. In fact, it almost seemed like a fairly good shot, judging by what he could see. Draco was hunched over the sugar bowl, outwardly focused on the tea, but every other clue Harry could detect in the boy's manner screamed that he was waging an internal battle with himself. Now Harry could only wonder what would win that battle. In the meantime, the tea was beginning to smell quite good. "Two."

Draco poured the cups of tea then ladled two heaped spoonfuls of sugar into each one. He carried one of the cups and a breakfast plate to the slot in the bars, and waited for Harry to meet him.

Harry took his time rising to his feet before walking with slow, measured steps to where Malfoy was waiting for him. As he took his breakfast, he checked Draco's face more closely for clues, hints, and any sign that what he'd said was actually sinking in. It was.

Although clouded by a well-practiced mask, it was certainly there. The question was, would it ever be enough? Some spare shred of humanity, if properly ignited, might fuel something that could cause the boy to snap. Malfoy, he could tell, was simultaneously searching him, with one thing in mind.

As though answering the unvoiced question, Harry said simply, "No, I haven't given up."

By the look on Draco's face, that had been exactly what he'd been wondering.

"You've been studying me all this time... and don't look so surprised, I knew you were doing it... so if you've learned anything about me, you should know by now that I don't quit so easily." Harry turned his back to the bars and began slowly walking back towards his spot, still speaking. "Voldemort had me tied to a gravestone, and I didn't give up. Wormtail had cut into my arm and had taken my blood to resurrect Voldemort's body, and I didn't give up."

He came to a stop at the wall, standing in his usual spot, but didn't turn around. "Voldemort had cast the killing curse at me, for the second time in my life, and even as the spell was coming at me, I didn't give up. That's the only reason I'm alive now. So, until the last split second of that bloody eclipse, whether or not the moon disappears and takes my life along with it, I still won't give up."

Draco, who was frozen in place, hands still by the slot in the bars where Harry had taken his breakfast from, finally let his arms fall to his sides. "I never expected you to," he admitted. "I think I'd be disappointed if you did."

Harry spun around. He opened his mouth as though to say something, but seemed to reconsider. He didn't need to ask what Malfoy meant. He understood perfectly. Letting a soft smile pull the corners of his lips, he inclined his head towards Draco. "Thanks for the tea." He sipped it. "Just enough sugar, too."

Draco raised his eyebrows at the unexpected shift in conversation from death at the hands of Voldemort to tea, but finally allowed himself to smile in return. He walked back the breakfast tray, retrieved his teacup, and raised it. "What do you say? To sugared tea?"

_/And to Slytherin and Gryffindor, to never giving up, to good choices and bad choices, to every similarity we've got, and every difference we ever created?/_

Harry raised his own cup. "To sugared tea."

The boys tipped their cups back at the same time. When Draco lowered his and looked past the rim, Harry was already settling himself against the wall. He balanced his plate on his knees and set the teacup by his side, then began plowing through his breakfast ravenously.

"Not a little bit hungry, are you?"

Harry spoke around a mouthful of toast. "I haven't eaten since supper the evening before you kidnapped me. I'm starved."

"Oh yeah," Draco said quietly as he settled down in his chair and began poking at his own breakfast.

A few minutes passed with nothing but the sound of clinking dishes before Harry broke the silence. "So why did you send Biddy to pack a bag? Going somewhere?"

"We're moving you to the Dark Lord's headquarters," Draco said simply. "We knew it was only a matter of time before they started searching for you here anyway, and the headquarters is unplottable, so they won't find us there."

Harry leaned back against the wall. "I suppose that makes sense. Is that what that letter was about?"

Draco flashed something between a grin and a smirk. "I guess you are pretty observant. Yes, it was."

"Your mother sent it?"

"Yeah. So what?"

"You're in the same house as her. Why didn't she just come down to see you herself? I mean, she hasn't been here once since you arrived, or not that I've seen her. Doesn't she care to see you at all?" The question held hints of pity, and it was the last thing Draco wanted from his prisoner, but at the same time, it struck a chord.

"She doesn't appreciate 'nasty places like the dungeons.' It's just as convenient to send a note."

"Convenient," Harry muttered softly. "Yes, too inconvenient to come down to see a member of her family."

That was a conversation Draco didn't feel like touching again. "More tea?"

Harry cocked his head, amused by Draco's sudden need to cut short the topic, then smiled. "Sure. Two sugars, if you please."

Draco didn't move. He was too busy watching Harry's face. Draco rarely saw smiles which weren't tainted by a sneer, a smirk, or haughty satisfaction, as though the people by whom he was surrounded felt that it was beneath their dignity to smile properly. The few such smiles he had seen had most certainly not been directed at him. Joviality was not something common to people of his status, and never having experienced it, it's impossible to miss something you've never had. However, Potter had just smiled at him, openly. No smirk, no sneer, just a smile, almost like a friend. It was a beautiful thing, and now, Draco realized what he'd been missing.

Harry's smile fell a little bit. "What's wrong?"

The question snapped Draco from his trance. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Hand me your cup." He took Harry's teacup, filled it, added the sugar, and passed it back through the bars without a single word.

Harry eyed him curiously as he accepted the cup of tea, and tested it with a sip. "Thanks," he said, still watching Draco.

Draco merely nodded in reply and set about pouring himself a second cup.

Harry had almost drained his refill when Draco finally spoke again.

"Have you ever had a girlfriend?"

Harry choked on the last swallow of tea, sputtering and coughing. "What?"

"I asked if you'd ever had a girlfriend. I saw you take that Gryffindor girl to the Yule Ball in our fourth year, but you didn't seem that interested in her."

Harry started at the very abrupt change of topic. "Where did this conversation come from?"

"Small talk, Potter." Draco blew out a sharp breath in frustration. "It's what polite people do when there's nothing else to say. In other words, I'm trying to have a civilized conversation with you. If that's too difficult, like swallowing tea without dribbling down your shirt, let me know."

Harry wiped his chin quickly, eliciting a laugh from Draco. "No," he finally said. "No, I've never had a real girlfriend."

"That's rather amusing, for the famous Harry Potter."

"Sure," he sniffed. "Especially considering I lived through months of controversy in my fourth year all over a so-called girlfriend that I never had. It's almost ironic, looking back."

"Didn't you date that Ravenclaw girl last year?"

"Don't even remind me about that."

Draco chuckled. "That bad, huh?"

Harry looked up at Draco pitifully. "Worse."

They laughed, and for a moment, both of the boys forgot that there were iron bars separating them, but it was Harry who finally pulled himself back to his senses. "That's not what you wanted to ask me, is it?"

Draco's face fell. "You're right, it wasn't."

"So go ahead and ask. You've got me captive-audience, so you might as well. What have you got to lose, remember?"

Draco bit his bottom lip. "I wanted to know where you got that scar on your arm. Not the one from the basilisk. The other one. The one you didn't want me to see."

"Oh," Harry said neutrally. "I see. The huge charade, and all you wanted to do was to satisfy your curiosity. Is that right, Malfoy? Alright then, allow me to humour you."

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "I got that one the night Voldemort got his body back. He was using some sort of spell that required the blood of an enemy in order to resurrect himself. I suppose I've always been the enemy of choice. So, while I was tied to a gravestone, gagged, Wormtail took a dagger and cut into my arm to retrieve the blood.

"That scar is a reminder of my failure. Voldemort came back, and there was nothing I could do, tied there as I was. It reminds me that Cedric died, and I couldn't stop it. Most of all, it reminds me of the deaths that are probably still to come, just like this other scar," he pointed to his forehead, "reminds me about the deaths of the past."

Draco stared at him, openly shocked. His mouth moved slowly, as though wanting to say something, but he had no words to offer.

"Is that what you wanted to know? Dig into my mind a little bit? Does that bother you, Malfoy?" he questioned.

Of course, it bloody bothered him. It shouldn't have, of course, but it did. It had always seemed to be such a cut-and-dry fight. Draco knew the Dark Arts were often rather gruesome, but you don't often receive a personal account of someone who had been used in such a manner. Such people don't typically survive after they have been used for purposes like that. Used, like a pawn in a deadly game. Once again, Draco found himself wondering if he was yet another pawn.

Averting his eyes for a moment, Draco quickly collected himself outwardly, but when he looked back, he couldn't hold it, and the pretense faded again. He swallowed, searching for something to say. Finally, he settled on a simple question. It sounded stupid to even his own ears, but he had to hear the answer for himself, from a person who had survived so many unbelievable ordeals. He had to know if Potter was still human underneath it all.

"Did it hurt?"

Harry kept his face neutral as he studied Draco's reactions, that last subtle shift in expression and tone. The drawl was utterly gone. He'd finally broken through. Letting his shoulders relax, he graced Draco with a brief, pained smile. "Yes, it did."

Draco nodded slowly. "I think..."

"Yes?"

"Can we go back to small-talk now?" He attempted a smile of his own.

"Sure," Harry grinned lopsidedly, as though the last conversation topic had never happened. "So... have _you_ ever had a girlfriend?"

"Potter!"

Harry and Draco spent the next several hours in surprisingly mild conversation. With such a pleasant change of pace, it never occurred to either of them to pick a fight, and for once, neither of them wanted to.

For Harry, life on the inside of the dungeon cell was already unpleasant enough, and after the combination of unsettling thoughts, harsh words, and a particularly lovely visit with a deranged Dark wizard, he welcomed the relative quiet. It gave him a moment to breathe, if nothing else, but it also presented an opportunity to see something he'd never seen before: Draco Malfoy, acting like a human being. Who would have expected that? Still, there he was, laughing and talking, asking and answering questions without the sly edge, the thinly masked cunning, or the double-motives. Whether or not this was an act Harry didn't know, but if it was, then it was a damned good act, and Harry would take what he could get. Even if it was only a figment of his imagination, he could almost let himself believe that Malfoy was the closest thing to an ally he would find until he escaped, if he escaped, and he could certainly use an ally.

Draco, for his part, was both fascinated by the conversation, and also quite tired. Fighting would only exhaust him more, and he had no desire to do that. _Sleepless Nights_ potion could keep a person awake and functionally alert, but it was a far cry from real sleep, and he could feel the fatigue wearing on his bones. He wouldn't leave his post. It was his honour, his duty, and now, it had become something else, almost a pleasure. In spite of his exhaustion, his conversation with Harry had been more than an adequate distraction to make the experience worthwhile.

"So that's what it was?" Draco asked, eyes just a bit wider than usual.

"Yup," Harry said proudly. "A stag."

"Do you have any clue why yours takes that particular shape?" Draco tilted his head curiously.

Harry pressed his lips together thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose it can't hurt to tell anyone now, but my father was an Animagus, and his form was a stag. I didn't know that until after I learned to produce a Patronus though."

"Interesting. Well, all I can say is that bloody thing was huge. I suppose I've got to hand it to you, it damn near shocked me out of my skin."

"It's not like you gave me too much of a choice, you know."

"True enough, but you've got to admit, it was a pretty clever idea." Draco grinned mischievously. "We obviously had you fooled, if you had to use a Patronus charm to ward us off."

"Touché." Harry conceded the point.

At that moment, the latch on the dungeon door shifted, sending a loud thud echoing through the dungeons. Draco was immediately on his feet, followed a split second later by Harry.

Lucius Malfoy came breezing into the dungeons, cloak billowing. "We haven't much time. I suspect the Ministry might try a night-raid. Draco, are your things ready?" he said in a rush that overrode the usual decorum in his voice.

"Yes father," Draco replied automatically, slipping back into his well-practiced manners, indicating the two small bags next to his chair.

"Excellent. Biddy!"

The house elf appeared with a crack. After her bright behavior during her last few visits into the dungeons, it almost shocked Harry to see how miserably she cowered in front of Lucius. Almost shocked, but not quite. Instead, the sight infuriated him, and it was with great difficulty that he kept quiet.

"Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir?" she squeaked.

"Take Draco's things to the headquarters at once." Lucius snapped.

In a panic-borne rush, she grabbed the bags and disappeared.

"Now you," he spun around to Harry, "don't try anything smart, or I shall take great pleasure in making your miserable existence even more miserable until the Dark Lord is ready for you."

Harry's eyes flicked subconsciously to Draco before he tipped his head to the side, rolled his eyes, and said lazily, "Whatever."

Draco had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. A day ago, he would have been furious to see Potter address his father in such a disrespectful manner. Now, it seemed ridiculously funny. Instead of snickering though, Draco set his face into its familiar mask, and remained silent.

Lucius continued to glare at Harry, never quite making eye contact, as he instructed Draco, "Unlock the cell."

Draco retrieved the key from his robe pocket and turned it in the lock. As the door swung open, Lucius carefully trained his wand on Harry. "Out. Now."

Standing as tall as he could, Harry obliged the order, but as he walked past Lucius, the older man jabbed his wand at Harry's arm. Harry jerked away with a hiss of pain, as though he'd been stung by an electric shock.

Draco felt a strange upwelling of protectiveness. He had spent quite some time patching up Harry's injuries, taking time and care to prevent further pain. It seemed strange now to sit by and watch his own father inflicting such pain. In a sudden flash of inspiration, Draco stepped forward. "Father," he let a devious smirk pull at his mouth, "please allow me to direct the prisoner."

Harry's head snapped to the side in surprise, locking eyes with Draco's, and although Draco's face remained cold, an understanding passed between them.

"Draco," Lucius smiled as though satisfied, "It is pleasing to see you taking your duty so seriously. Yes, you may, but I warn you of one thing."

"Yes father?"

"Never look into the eyes of the enemy," he growled. "You might accidentally mistake him for a human being."

Draco's breath caught tightly in his throat, and it was probably a good thing that it had done so, because otherwise, he might have blurted out the insane protest that Harry was very much a human being. Her father's stern gaze stifled the thought quickly, pushed it away from his tongue, but it didn't disappear. After what he'd seen and heard, as much as he respected his father, it was impossible to believe that anymore. Reassuming his practiced behavior, he bowed his head slightly in obedience. "Yes father." He pulled his wand from his pocket and aimed it at Harry.

"Very well, Draco. The prisoner is yours." He reached into his robes and extracted a small crystalline pyramid. "This is your Portkey. You can't Apparate into the dungeons beneath the headquarters. I shall personally Apparate at the entrance by normal procedures and will be meeting with you in the dungeons later. If you need anything, call for the house elf. It's yours now."

Lucius paused and looked briefly between the two boys, bringing his eyes back to rest on Draco. "You will be under the direct scrutiny of the Dark Lord at some point during the time you are at Headquarters." His voice was cold. "Be certain you do not falter in your tasks."

Draco jerked his head in a stiff bow. "Yes father. I will not fail."

Nodding once, Lucius placed the Portkey on the floor and activated it with his wand. "Now go."

Draco's wand was still tightly trained on Harry, but he could feel his hand shaking imperceptibly against the smooth wood. He carefully avoided eye contact as he indicated the pyramid on the floor. "Nice and easy, Potter," he said, his voice carefully measured. "No fast moves."

Taking his own instructions to heart, Draco slowly bent his knees and extended his free hand towards the Portkey. Simultaneously, he tried to calm his heart, which had begun to pound a wild pattern in his chest. His father was watching him. He needed to be calm, level-headed, in total control of himself and his captive. He had to be every bit the Malfoy that his father expected, not the curious, nervous, uncertain Draco that had begun to emerge in the last few hours.

Mirroring his captor, Harry crouched down and reached his hand out for the Portkey, not allowing himself to look up at Draco. He could feel the wand pointed at him, but also the barely discernible tension radiating off the other boy. No wonder. Malfoy was probably no more keen on stepping into Voldemort's lair that he was. Who would be? Still, there was another cause of Draco's nervousness, Harry realized. He could feel Lucius's harsh glare on the both of them, realizing with interest that Draco was under more scrutiny than he was just then.

Draco's hand was mere inches from the Portkey, and he counted aloud slowly. "Three... Two... One."

The boys' hands dove simultaneously for the small target. In the short time and space of that motion, their hands collided just a hair's breadth above the surface of the Portkey, the tips of their fingers intertwining loosely out of pure reflex. The unexpected contact of skin on skin, hand to hand, sent an alarming jolt running up Draco's arm. Even as he felt his palm contact the Portkey, his entire awareness was centered on the brilliant feeling running from his fingertips to the base of his spine. It was all he could do not to gasp in shock as his head shot up, locking eyes with Harry.

In the last fraction of a second before the Portkey took him, he saw the same wide-eyed look of surprise he felt being displayed perfectly on Harry's face, and he knew that Harry had felt it too.

Draco didn't have time to consider whether or not his father had noticed his reaction to touching Harry. The incredible feelings from the contact were quickly overtaken by the familiar pull of an activated Portkey. There was the sensation of invisible hooks grabbing them behind their navels, and the rushing of their feet leaving the floor, as the Portkey sent them hurtling into the epicenter of it all, straight into the serpent's lair.

 

*********

 


	6. Disturbing Discussions

Harry found himself deposited flat on his back, on a stone floor almost the same as the one he'd just left. Next to him, he could hear Draco moving, and he'd barely pushed himself to his knees when he found himself staring at the tip of Draco's wand again. The other boy was glaring at him coldly, brandishing his wand at him as though holding a dangerous animal at bay.

A quick glance around told Harry that they were alone in the dungeon. To his side, an empty cell was waiting, door open, a key resting in the lock. The only sound was the echo of dripping water from some dark corner of the passageway. In the momentary privacy, Harry allowed himself a sigh, and a few seconds to breathe.

He turned back to Draco, letting a multitude of thoughts swirl through his mind. What the hell had just happened back there? Strange, electric; it had flooded through him like a rush of icy water, bringing him alert and awake, making his body tingle and his breath catch, and he was certain Draco had felt the same thing. He'd seen it in the look of pure surprise written clearly across Malfoy's face as they locked eyes.

Now, however, there was no sign of it anywhere in his captor's demeanor. He could almost fool himself into thinking it had only been an illusion, but his instinct told him he knew better than that. He knew it had been real, and he was sure Malfoy knew as well.

Settling back against his heels, he said with deceptive casualness, "I wonder where the party is."

"Shut up, Potter." Draco's voice had resumed its usual cold drawl, much to Harry's surprise. Not that he should have expected anything different, but...

Draco motioned tersely with his wand towards the cell. "Get up. On your feet. And no fast moves. I'd be just as happy to stun you and toss you in there myself." There was no doubt that the warning was real.

Harry raised an inquisitive eyebrow as he rose to his feet, never taking his eyes off Draco. The Slytherin was a little enigma in his own right, Harry decided. Just when it seemed that there had been a real change in the person Harry had always known as Malfoy, his father had arrived, and every precisely trained behavioral pattern had fallen back into place.

Well, perhaps not all of it. The Malfoy that Harry used to know had always appeared genuine, had never seemed like an act until now. And it had probably been quite authentic until that point, but apparently the seeds of doubt had been sown. Malfoy didn't even keep his friends close. But if Harry's hunch was correct, he'd just let his enemy get closer. Probably too close. Under-the-skin close.

The look on Draco's face when their hands had touched had proven beyond a doubt exactly what was an act and what was real. In that instant, Draco's eyes had betrayed him.

"Malfoy... ?"

"I didn't give you permission to speak!" he snarled. "Just get into the bloody cell! NOW!"

He jabbed towards Harry with his wand, as though to underline his command more strongly, but in reality it was a nervous movement, designed to cover the fear that seemed to be pulling at his vocal cords.

Draco didn't have the luxury of considering the emotions and thoughts churning in his mind at the moment. He was desperately trying to bury them below the far more immediate situation. True, the room was empty save for them, but instead of putting Draco at ease, it had ignited every carefully trained nerve he possessed with alertness and caution. He couldn't be sure, but he suspected that he might be under surveillance.

That wouldn't have been a problem normally. He would have assumed his practiced, confident poise, been his usual haughty and self-righteous self. At one time, he would have properly enjoyed holding Potter at wand point, making both idle and not-so-idle threats. In the very least, he could have put on a proper show for the Dark Lord, or whoever else might have been watching. However, that wasn't so easy at the moment.

His subconscious kept poking through the cracks in his fear, drawing him back to the instant his hand had connected with Harry's. The strange sensation that he'd felt when he'd touched Harry before had magnified, filling his consciousness. There had been a thrill in the human touch, a guilty sort of joy. He was dwelling on it, couldn't shake the ghost of the feeling from his body. It was almost as though a subtle connection had been forged between them, cementing their new understanding into something else, something he couldn't exactly define, something that left him edgy and unbalanced. Something that should never exist between them.

 _NO_ , he told himself staunchly. He hadn't felt that. _He hadn't_. His loyalty to his father and the Dark Lord was true. It had to be. He had no other choice. Right now, whether he wanted to do it or not, he had a job to do. Voldemort had given him an assignment, and even if it felt like a secluded, throw-away task, nothing escaped the Dark Lord's eye. Not even one's innermost emotions. Until now, there had been nothing to fear from that. Potter had just changed everything.

Harry responded to Draco's prodding, his expression still inquisitive, turning to walk unhurriedly towards the cell.

Draco's thoughts ricocheted back and forth from Harry to the Dark Lord, to his father, to his duty, and back to Harry, leaving him slightly dizzy. Each of Harry's painstakingly slow step caused Draco's heart to thud a little louder as seconds seemed to stretch out. Any longer and his frantic nerves would reach a level of panic he wouldn't be able to hide. Someone would suspect something, though he wasn't quite sure what.

 _Faster, damn you!_ He poked Harry in the back with his wand. "Stop procrastinating!"

It hadn't stung, Draco hadn't used a charm to make it sting, but Harry snapped around as though it had, and glowered in irritation. Draco found himself beginning to feel sorry... until he saw Harry's glare fade away as the boy searched into his eyes. It made Draco feel terribly vulnerable, as though all his layers of protection had been peeled back. Harry seemed able to do that to him with uncanny ease.

After only a split second, Harry gave an almost imperceptible nod, and resumed walking towards the cell.

Draco hesitated, momentarily stunned. Quickly, wiped the surprise from his face, hiding the surge of hope he felt. If that nod meant what he thought it meant, then Harry was actually going to cooperate with him. _Willingly._ But why on earth would Harry do such a thing?

Perhaps, whatever Draco had felt when their hands had touched hadn't been his imagination, and Harry had felt it, too. Tucking away this thought for later, Draco trailed Harry closely to the door of the cell, feeling nervous still, but not so much as before.

As Harry passed through the door, without really realizing he was doing it, Draco let his hand brush along the small of his back, as though ushering him forwards. His fingertips graced the fabric, pressed against the too-thin back underneath, and he realized that he didn't particularly feel like locking Harry in.

Harry felt the slight pressure against the small of his back, not a push, just a touch. He spun around again as a different sort of surprise shot through him. Draco's touch had conveyed a sort of protectiveness, and a peculiar solidarity. It wasn't what he would have ever expected from Draco Malfoy, but then, nothing lately had happened the way he'd expected.

The door swung shut between them, but Harry continued to stare at Draco until he was forced to look back. The face was still Malfoy; cold, impassive, arrogant. But unlike before, the cold concrete of Draco's irises sparked at him like polished silver, the eyes of a person who had finally woken from a long dreamless night. For the first time, they spoke directly to Harry, flashing with confusion and apology. Underneath that, there was still the fear.

Draco inclined his own head just a fraction of a centimeter, a sign of respect. It was all he could do without completely letting himself crumble. He was beginning to falter, betrayed by the mixed-up thoughts which continued to dance unbidden through his subconscious. Here, right under Voldemort's nose, was the worst place he could lose his grip. Finally, he turned the key in the lock, maintaining as much of his outward dignity as he could.

To any onlooker, nothing unusual had occurred between the two teenage boys in the dungeon. No blaring emotions, no subtle undertones. Draco could only hope that he could maintain those appearances... at least until this whole matter was taken out of his hands.

Before he'd even put the key in his pocket, the dungeon door flew open with a crash. Draco whipped around, suspecting, with a wave of terror, that Voldemort had arrived, but instead his father hurried into the passageway, breathing hard.

Lucius took a quick appraisal of the scene, noting with satisfaction that Harry was now securely locked in the cell. His breathing slowed slightly as he composed himself and turned formally to Draco. "Excellent, Draco. Excellent," he said in a rush.

Draco could see that Lucius was still in a highly agitated state, but instead of asking, he waited for his father to reveal the reasons for that anxiety.

"The Ministry officials arrived at the front gate just as I emerged from the south passage," Lucius explained. "We shouldn't have waited so long, but what's done is done. Your mother will be able to claim ignorance and should be able to maintain the Manor. They may do a full raid, but any _questionable_ items can be attributed to me."

He shot a harsh, meaningful glare over his shoulder at Harry. "It's not as though my public image could be tarnished any further."

Harry leaned casually against the side of the cell. "I suppose you're going to try to blame me for the fact that you finally got caught, and your shining public image was destroyed."

Lucius's face contorted as though he were feeling constipated. "For once, Potter, I'm going to agree with you."

"Good," Harry said, his eyes sparking devilishly. "Because I wouldn't want to share credit for that accomplishment with anyone else."

For the second time that day, Draco found himself trying hard not to laugh at Potter's antics in front of his father. Thankfully, he stifled it before Lucius turned back to him.

"Draco, I must leave immediately. I expect you to maintain your dignity..." he paused, letting the many implications of that last word percolate, "while I am gone."

Draco nodded once, and then asked tentatively, "Father?"

Lucius inclined his head, permitting Draco to speak.

"Where is everyone? The headquarters feels deserted."

Flattening his lips, Lucius spoke tensely. "Very observant, Draco. You're correct of course. We have to ensure that we keep the ministry distracted enough to prevent them from finding Potter until we can make use of him. Tonight in particular, while moving him, the Dark Lord planned a series of attacks to keep them occupied."

Over his father's shoulder Draco saw Harry stand up a bit straighter, green eyes darkening over as worry lined his features.

Lucius kept talking. "I must go and join them. Stay here, do your duty." He turned sharply to leave, shoes clacking loudly on the stone floor. Just before he was about to turn the corridor, however, he paused and glanced over his shoulder at Draco.

"The Dark Lord has expressed a wish to speak with you privately upon his return." The tension and anxiety in his voice were palpable, and his final words echoed ominously. "Mind that you are ready."

With that, he was gone.

Draco felt his knees start to buckle as the echo of his father's words faded from the depths of the passageway, continuing to reverberate round in his mind. The Dark Lord himself wanted to speak to him. Not in passing, as he had done before, but privately. Once, that would have been the highest honour Draco could have imagined, short of his father's undying approval. Now, however, there seemed to be a new factor in the equation.

Draco had prepared himself over the years for his inevitable meeting with Voldemort. His father had assured him that no others of his generation would serve the Dark Lord so well; he was a Malfoy. Now, Draco had been the one to catch Potter, effectively bringing himself into the ring of Voldemort's followers, and putting him in a very enviable position by the estimation of most Death Eaters. A few days ago, his own assessment of the situation would have been the same. Not so anymore.

For the first time in his life, he found himself questioning everything. Himself, his family name, Voldemort; Draco was guilty of doubting everything he knew and everything on which he'd been relying, just as he was about to face trial by Voldemort. As a Death Eater, life, power, and survival are based on certain truths. Misplace a single one, and the rest of the defense crumbles. He would be judged, possibly very harshly. Voldemort had a common tendency to make himself judge, jury, and, whenever he deemed fit, executioner.

He wasn't ready for this now, suddenly unprepared. If Voldemort knew his doubt, if Voldemort suspected his wavering loyalty and weaknesses, there would be nothing he could do to defend himself. The Dark Lord does not give second chances.

Draco wrestled back the bleak feelings, trying to will some fortitude into his shaking legs, and being only partially successful. He had always thought he was strong enough to face this, but now, although he wanted to be unafraid, it was all too much.

Then again, he was the same age as Harry, who was facing his own encounter with Voldemort, and Harry's fate was much more certain. For Draco, this was what he'd always wanted, the path he'd accepted and chosen from his father. Harry had never had any choices. It almost seemed unfair.

Knowing that the headquarters were deserted and that no eyes were following him, Draco finally turned to look into the cell. Harry was no longer standing against the wall, smirking as he had been before. Instead, he was scrunched up on the floor against the wall, with his arms wrapped around his knees, his face upturned in a tight, pained expression, eyes closed.

His own fears temporarily pushed aside in favour of his curiosity; Draco opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but stopped himself, taking an opportunity to silently observe Potter's face.

Harry's skin was still too pale, almost as pale as Draco's, but appeared more so under the stark contrast of the black fringe falling carelessly across his forehead, partially hiding his scar. There were streaks of dirt along his jaw line and across his nose, and his cheek had a nasty abrasion. He would have seemed nothing more than an innocent child, rather than a man who had faced death more times than anyone should... save for his expression.

Under his cheeks, his jaw was tightly clenched, lips thin and sallow, and dark circles ringed his eyes. He'd been worn ragged, but despite his blatant exhaustion; the emotional pain that was obviously eating him alive, the hell he'd been through in the past few years; even more the past few days; he wasn't crying, wasn't admitting defeat. Draco, who wasn't even Voldemort's target, felt ready to crumble at the prospect of meeting the Dark Lord alone. Harry, on the contrary, was holding strong.

It was that display of quiet strength that forced Draco to recognize a strange beauty and elegance he hadn't imagined possible, especially in the form of this awkward-looking boy. It was magnetic, and Draco wondered what he would have been like if he'd fallen into the company of that kind of strength long ago. Now that he had seen it so clearly, could he ever force himself to forget? Could he still humble himself, as he'd always been trained to, to Voldemort's cold power, and continue to loathe the strength he'd seen in Harry Potter?

Finally, he permitted himself to vocalize his curiosity, and perhaps even a bit of concern. Keeping his voice as level as possible, he asked, "What's wrong? Scar hurting?"

Harry opened one eye, and then closed it again before answering. "No, it's not the scar, although the damn thing does keep prickling. Gets annoying after a while."

Harry fell silent again, showing no signs that he was going to answer further without prompting. Draco knew that he wouldn't be satisfied until he got an answer. Conceding to his need to know, he crossed over to the cell, pushed his face against the bars, and demanded through them, "So then, what is it?"

This time no trace of a green iris peeked through eyelids. Instead, Harry pressed his face against his knees as he replied softly, "Whatever Voldemort is doing tonight. Whatever he's doing to distract the Ministry. If all the Death Eaters have gone with him, it must be huge. I wonder... I wonder how many people, innocent people, are going to die tonight. How many already have."

Biting his lip, Draco considered this carefully whether there was any answer he could give Harry, before musing aloud, "It's not like it should really matter to you. They're not touching Hogwarts yet. I mean, you probably don't even know any of them."

Harry's voice became even quieter, but the force behind it grew. "They're innocent human beings. Yes, it does matter to me."

Harry's words dug at him, and Draco realized he was almost beginning to feel sorry for the night's victims when he realized his foolishness. He suddenly remembered exactly why the Gryffindor was so bloody annoying. With everything else weighing on the back of his mind, he didn't want another sermon. He had issues enough of his own to deal with. "Are you going to give me another one of your sanctimonious lectures, Potter? I don't need to hear it right now."

"What's the matter, Malfoy?" Potter's voice was barely above a whisper now, but there was a definite tone of sadistic amusement under it. "Don't like hearing about the nastier things that Voldemort and his Death Eaters do? Does the harsh reality of bloodshed make you queasy? All those innocent people, dying needlessly, messing up your carpets? Your own father has likely killed his fair share."

The sting in that last jab only served to incite Draco even further. "They're just Muggles, Mudbloods, and Muggle lovers," he said defiantly. "They're hardly human."

Harry didn't move, didn't speak, but his eyes came open and answered for him, slicing into Draco, burning through him with a sharp definition.

Draco could rant and hurl insults to a blank wall all day, he did it regularly enough with Crabbe and Goyle to be well-practiced in that skill. Even in his sleep-deprived state of exhaustion, he could have easily held his own in a verbal spar with Potter, he was sure of it, had the boy just kept his eyes closed. Every single time, those bloody piercing eyes had thrown him off. He couldn't hold up under Potter's scrutiny. His words didn't seem to have enough push to force their way past the barricades.

He almost let himself take back the comment, but he couldn't. Not here. Not in the Dark Lord's own dungeons. Every little blow Potter struck was another nail in Draco's coffin, another chink in his armor against Voldemort. Every time Potter went one up on him, it left him weaker, less capable, feeling strangely hollow. If Draco met Voldemort under those conditions – and that meeting was coming soon – he didn't want to think about what might happen.

Anger. That's what he needed. To be hard, cold, with no traces of weakness, compassion, or any other soft, human emotion which would allow Voldemort to rip him apart. He needed to clear his head, to think the way he'd always been trained.

He'd humoured his curiosity enough, now it was time to work. Respect aside, Draco wouldn't let himself change his long-held beliefs because of Potter's sanctimonious lectures. Potter was not going to win this round.

 _How dare he?_ Draco thought to himself. _Perfect Bloody Potter._ _Does he think that just because I haven't made his every breathing moment into pure misery that he suddenly has some sort of control over me? I've let him have more control than I ever should have. Potter may be powerful, but damned if I'm going to let him have that much power over me! I won't let him! He will NOT destroy me!_

Spurred by his own thoughts, Draco latched on to the weak thread of familiar heated competitiveness, everything that had once defined his relations with Potter. This had all meant nothing. Anything he'd let himself believe about letting his guard down in the name of curiosity had been a bloody farce. His father was right. He never should have looked into Potter's eyes. It was a mistake, a slip, a near-fatal flaw in his quest to get into Potter's head. He'd almost forgotten himself, and that was unforgivable. It was time to reclaim his position in this power struggle, and close himself to the uncertainties that were eating away at him. His pride, his heritage; he was a Malfoy and damn, he was going to let Potter know it. The game was still on.

"Potter! Stop looking at me like that!" The command dripped with spite. "You with your Mudblood and Muggle-loving best friends... gah! Your type are all alike. All idealistic, think you're always right, don't you? Think you can make me feel guilty over a mob of Mudbloods?"

Harry merely stared at him darkly, causing Draco's stomach to jump through itself yet again. He didn't like the emotions in that glare, especially after the other looks Potter had given him over the past few days and hours, but he couldn't let it shake him.

"Besides," he added some venom to the spite, "whether or not I brought you here, it's _you_ the Dark Lord wants, it's _you_ those people are dying for tonight. If it weren't for _you_ , none of this would ever have happened."

Harry didn't move, his icy glare still freezing Draco in place. The silence seemed stifling, choking, broken only by the frantic thrumming of Draco's heartbeat in his ears.

 _Potter_. People dying, Lucius's temporary imprisonment in Azkaban, and Draco's fear and doubts. Everything was wrong because of Potter.

Jutting his chin out, Draco made one final stab. "It's all _your_ fault."

Harry sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a moment before gazing at Draco again. He looked like a wise aged man who had become tired of listening to the idiocy of a young apprentice, and tired of arguing.

"It's my fault," he said, and the sick irony bleeding from that statement caused Draco to take a small step backwards. "Of course, it's my fault. Soon, Voldemort will kill me, but those people will keep on dying, and it will still be my fault. Be sure to put that on my epithet. 'It was Harry Potter's fault.'

"It's your wish come true, Malfoy. Everything you ever wanted, wrapped up in one neat little package. I'll be dead, the Mudbloods will be dead, and you'll be Voldemort's little pet. Glory... power... lifetime of servitude, all for you."

Harry's voice lowered dangerously, tension mounting behind each word. "Just remember, when you're standing over your very first victim as Voldemort's faithful Death Eater, and you're staring down the length of your wand at that Muggle or Mudblood, listening to the beautiful screams of pain until you finally decide to finish him or her with a nice, neat _'Avada Kedavra,'_ just remember that it's ALL MY FAULT."

Draco stood mutely, transfixed by the picture Harry had just painted, which was playing itself out in his mind like a poorly developed Wizard photograph. A rebuttal, Draco could have taken that, could have fueled his artificial anger, could have continued the verbal spar. This, however, wasn't a rebuttal. Thrown off guard, that which Draco had always believed to be the most eloquent tongue in Hogwarts, his own, had finally run out of steam. Harry hadn't risen to Draco's game. He'd stepped right over it.

Clenching his teeth, Draco reached up and grasped two of the bars and leaned his forehead in the grove between them. The cold metal against his temples soothed the headache he'd just realized was starting to throb there.

"Scared, Malfoy?"

The question was so different from the one Draco had thrown out before the duel all those years ago. It held none of the same rancor, none of the spite. That fact took Draco more by surprise than the fact that it had been asked at all, though he couldn't quite see where Harry was taking the conversation.

"Of what?" He tried to sound confident, and was completely unsuccessful.

"Voldemort. I saw you freeze up when your father said Voldemort wanted to talk to you."

"You _did_?" The question came out in as a squeak. Draco was unaccustomed to showing his emotions. He was even less accustomed to people noticing them.

A spark of amusement flashed across Harry's face. "It's a fairly normal reaction, judging by the fact that maybe a dozen wizards in the world are willing to even say his name. Most people are pretty scared."

"You're not," Draco said, more quickly than he meant to. "Scared, I mean."

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "In a way yes, in a way no."

"Well, you're used to it at least."

"Malfoy, you _never_ get used to getting up-close and personal with your own mortality."

Draco laughed bitterly. "A new thrill every time, is it?"

"Something like that."

Watching the other boy, his face pressed close to the bars, an unwelcome thought fell into Draco's head. "I think… I almost understand."

"Do you really?" Harry asked, not hiding his amusement at the bold claim. "How is that?"

"Facing... You-Know-Who," Draco said softly.

Harry gave a snort. "A heart-to-heart discussion with Voldemort may not be anyone's idea of a good time, Malfoy, but you're his servant, not his target. He doesn't want you dead. He couldn't care less."

Draco looked at him bleakly. "That's just it, Potter. You were right about that. He doesn't care, and I don't matter to him. Nobody does in the end. He's not much more cordial to his followers than his enemies. Who knows? He might decide I'm not worthy."

Harry's couldn't quite understand why Draco was volunteering this information. What was Draco saying? And why? "Do you want me to feel sorry for you or something?"

"No, Potter." He sighed deeply. "I don't."

Harry studied him carefully, blonde hair no longer perfectly smooth, tired circles underneath his eyes, the bars of the cell furrowing indentations into his cheeks. Draco's knuckles were white spots on fingers clenched tightly around the bars, as though he were trapped on the inside, looking out.

"You're as much of a prisoner as I am."

Draco felt his throat tighten, nervous again. "How is that, Potter?"

"You can't see it?" Harry tilted his head side ways into a classic pose of curiosity.

Draco pulled his face back from the bars as though stung. "I'm nobody's prisoner!"

A corner of Harry's mouth pulled up in perverse amusement. It was a fascinating twist to see this particular table turned. At the same time, however, he wanted Malfoy to understand this snippet of fact, as if somehow, it actually made a difference. Perhaps it did. "Oh, there are different types of prisons, Malfoy, but they're prisons just the same."

"And just what kind of prison am I in, Potter? Explain it to me, because thankfully my mind doesn't work like a Gryffindor's."

Harry shook his head incredulously. "I've told you before, just not in so many words. It's the choices you make, Malfoy. Those are your own personal bars and shackles."

Draco's mouth opened slightly and hung there for a moment before he spat back, "Not that again, Potter!"

"You asked, and I gave you an honest answer, which is more than you might deserve," Harry said with a shrug.

The conversations of these past few days were running circles in Draco's head, and his underlying exhaustion wasn't making this any easier. Draco's frustration with this train of thought reached a peak. He let go of the bars and stomped his foot irritably. "And I already told you, this isn't my choice! This is just what I have to do! It's my name, my heritage..."

"Isn't it what you want?"

"Yes! No! What the hell are you doing? Stop trying to trip me up!" This wasn't funny anymore. Why did his words always seem to fall out at the wrong angle around Harry? What happened to all the retorts he'd saved over the years? Why was the razor edge of his wit suddenly as dull as the broad side of a cauldron?

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, inciting Draco even further.

"Listen here, Potter. This is _exactly_ what I want. Who wouldn't want to be on the winning team? Who wouldn't want more power than anyone could possibly imagine?" He jabbed one thumb at his own chest. "It's what _I_ want."

Green eyes flicked from Draco to the floor, then back to Draco. Harry spoke in a soft, almost caring tone. "Then why are you so scared?"

The look in Harry's eyes, one of almost gentle honesty, the suddenness with which his own fear was turned back on him and the truth behind the simple question – it all shot through Draco, shaking him to the core. Biting his lower lip, he spun around and slammed his back against the bars of the cell. He wrapped his arms tightly across his chest, furling his fingers into the folds of his shirt, and squeezed his eyes closed against the hot pain pressing behind them, hoping against futile hope that Potter hadn't seen the look on his face. After a moment spent trying to compose himself, he opened his eyes and took a shuddering breath.

"Because, Potter," he said as evenly as possible, still facing away, "sometimes, when you want to play for the winning team, the price you pay for failure is very, very high."

His voice broke again, and once more he closed his eyes, not daring to move, much less turn back around. This was embarrassment beyond anything he'd ever experienced before, and there was plenty to compare. The only thing he had left to his credit was that actual tears hadn't leaked past his eyelids yet.

Harry listened to the calm, measured words; but Draco's shoulders quivered, and his breathing was uneven. The boy was actually upset, crying, even if Harry couldn't see the tears.

 _Don't listen to it, Harry,_ he told himself. _This is Draco Malfoy. He handed you over to Voldemort. He's as rotten as they come. People like him don't even have a heart to break..._

Harry sighed. _People without hearts don't cry._

"Malfoy, I..." What the hell was he going to do? Comfort the bastard? Civil conversation was perfectly acceptable when no emotions were really involved, but now, like this? Sure, he'd already accepted that Malfoy wasn't a completely inhuman git, but emotional support? To reach out a hand to him?

Harry looked down at his right hand, the one he'd used to touch the Portkey, the one that had brushed against Draco's hand. He could almost feel the ghost sensation of Draco's fingers against his; those hands, warm, smooth, utterly human. In that instant something in his underlying perception of the other boy changed. They'd shared the same fear, the same electric connection, and with that the sense of being totally alone had vanished completely, even in the face of being thrown into Voldemort's personal cage. It wasn't something you could forget or ignore easily.

Like it or not, he and Draco were together in this.

Draco still hadn't moved and his shoulders hadn't stopped shaking either. What with all the things Draco had done, said, and wished upon him over the years, Harry had sworn that he would love nothing more than to see Draco have it all come back to haunt him. Harry had always imagined it would be welcomed day to see Draco finally break down and cry with misery. However, he knew what it was like to face Voldemort. Having seen that unexpected spark of humanity, having seen Draco underneath the familiar façade he knew as Malfoy, he could no longer wished an unpleasant fate upon him.

Harry stood and approached Draco cautiously. If Malfoy sensed him approaching, he didn't show it. Stopping just short of the bars, Harry searched for something to say, but came up empty.

Draco heard the approaching footsteps and felt Harry's breath behind him. Furious embarrassment flushed hot across his cheeks. "I suppose you think this is absolutely wonderful, Potter." His voice was choked and halting. "Decided to come and get a closer look so you can laugh at me? Go ahead, Potter. Laugh your bloody arse off."

Harry frowned at Draco's words. He watched as the blonde head tipped forward, exposing a slender and now shockingly vulnerable neckline. Loose strands of hair brushed against the nape of Draco's neck, sliver blonde on pale, everything shaking with the unsteady motion of his breath. The frown faded to sympathetic melancholy. "No, Malfoy. I'm not laughing."

Surprised by the tone of Harry's voice, Draco's head raised a little, and he almost stared to turn around. The words weren't mocking, not laughing. It almost sounded as though Potter cared. No, that wasn't possible; he was simply imagining it.

Then, in a way that Draco couldn't possibly deny, the impossible happened.

A warm pressure settled on Draco's right shoulder, sending a heated shiver down his spine. His breath caught as the hairs on his neck stood on end. Potter had just reached through the bars and had laid a hand on his shoulder. Draco stood rigid in surprise, a dozen possible reactions screaming through his head.

_Potter is touching me! Touching me! Slap him, step away! Tell him off. Laugh at his over-sensitive Gryffindor arse. Insult him. Be utterly disgusted that he touched me..._

Yet Draco couldn't do any of those things, first because he was too stunned to move, but even as he overcame the surprise, he was interrupted by a thought he didn't think was really his own.

 _But you're not disgusted, are you?_ The little voice echoed through his head one more, louder than it had been the other times, and continued of its own accord. _He touched you before, or more specifically, you touched him. Admit it; you're glad of the touch right now. Grateful._

_No, that can't be._

The little voice didn't listen; it just kept going merrily on. _And you're grateful because it's the most human thing you've ever felt, the most startling, the most vivid. You've always been drawn to the conflict with him because it made you feel alive._

_No..._

_Now, you've actually touched him, let yourself be human, and you can't live in your little vacuum anymore. You know each other, in a way you've never even let yourself know your friends. The game is up, Draco. It's too late to play ignorance. The game is up._

Draco was hardly aware that he'd moved at all until the fingertips of his left hand brushed along the fabric covering his right shoulder, searching for that human touch they had felt both a few minutes and an entire lifetime ago. Without knowing exactly why, he found himself acutely aware of just how much he needed to feel it again. It was forbidden fruit; friendship with the enemy, where the lines defining friend and foe had blurred beyond recognition.

Finally, he felt the warmth of Harry's hand brush against his own, and immediately, Harry recoiled. For a fleeting instant, Draco found himself afraid that the sudden sense of comfort he'd found had just been an illusion.

Dejected, he was about to let his hand drop in an attempt to save himself from further embarrassment when he was stopped short by warm, dry fingers encircling his own hand and gripping tightly. An emotion Draco couldn't recognize flooded through him, and a single choked gasp escaped his lips before his throat tightened.

It was utter insanity. Harry Potter was holding his hand. He should have hated it, but at the same time, it seemed to be the only thing anchoring him to reality, whatever that was, and he _was_ grateful. He stood still for a moment, his mind too numb to really consider what was happening, unwilling to break the contact, or unable. After a few heartbeats, although it might have been an hour for all it mattered, Draco realized his hand was shaking. So was the rest of him. He had to pull himself together, back to reality.

With a shuddering breath, he withdrew his hand and slowly turned around. From a neutral face, two bright green eyes were blazing back at him curiously. Draco reached out and grasped one of the bars with his hand to steady himself, and lowered his eyes.

"Are you ok?" Harry asked softly.

Draco clenched his teeth. He couldn't answer that. He was too afraid of what he'd be forced to say, and for once, he didn't think he could lie if he wanted to. Instead, he stared at his hand, white-knuckled around the bar, following the lines of the hand to his wrist and the dark smudges that still encircled it, scars of his own punishment from long ago. He glanced from his own wrist to Harry's, hidden by the sleeve of the ragged jumper he wore, and then back to his own.

For fear his voice would break again, he asked in a whisper, "The cuts on your wrists, from the shackles, did they heal yet?"

"What?" Harry sounded surprised.

"I asked if the wounds on your wrists had healed yet."

Harry peered at him curiously for an instant, but instead of answering, he slowly wrapped his left hand around his right sleeve and pushed the cloth halfway up his forearm, then held out his arm for Draco to see.

Draco bit back the sick feeling that was welling up in his stomach as he took in the image. Harry's wrist was encircled by a ring of painful-looking scabs, peeling at the edges, some oozing a little, obviously due to lack of proper care. The sores would leave a permanent bracelet of dingy brownish scars, a permanent reminder of the pain and humiliation Harry had endured, the punishment, chained to the wall, a prisoner of the Malfoy dungeons.

Just like Draco.

"I could heal those for you," Draco said softly, not letting himself look up from Harry's wrist to his face. "If you wanted me to."

He watched as Harry clenched and opened his fist, as though testing to see if the hand attached to such a mangled wrist was still functioning properly. "I think I'd rather you didn't."

"It'll leave a scar you know."

"I know," Harry acknowledged. "I'm pretty familiar with scars by now."

"Then why would you want to keep it?"

Harry dropped his hand to his side, and the sleeve fell down to hide the sores once again. "To remind myself, I suppose. It's another ordeal I've come through, something I overcame. What doesn't kill me can only make me stronger, or that's how the saying goes. I don't know whether it's true. I guess there must be something in it, or why would so many people say it? "

"Oh." The sentiment seemed a little masochistic to Draco, but who was he to say anything? He glanced down at his own wrist again, and wondered if that was so very different.

"Why did you want to know that, all of a sudden?"

Draco finally lifted his head, considering the question. He really had no idea why he wanted to tell Harry about his own wrists, his experience in the Malfoy dungeons, but there were a few possibilities. It might have been a bizarre competitive throwback, something to say, "Ha, I did it too, and I was younger," to, but that wasn't right at all. He might have pulled a stunt like that when he was twelve years old, but not now. Especially not now. Did he want sympathy? Absolutely not. He'd got past his need for such an emotion years ago, and the actual pain of the incident was just a memory. Draco Malfoy didn't need pity for the pain of the past.

It was, perhaps, that he actually wanted something in common with Harry. A bond, a shared ordeal, an understanding. Maybe, all he wanted was for Harry to understand him, for whatever that was worth.

Expressionless, Draco reached up with this free hand, delicately pinched the end of the sleeve between his thumb and forefinger, and pulled it back enough to reveal his own slender wrist. He held it up where Harry could see. If anything, the muted torchlight of the dungeons made the old scars even more noticeable.

Harry took a step forwards and leaned across, examining the proffered wrist calmly, carefully. Draco turned his arm so that Harry could see the full circle of bruise-like markings.

"Those are..."

"I got them the same way you did. Same place, same shackles."

Harry's eyes shot up, startled, disbelieving. Draco gave him a solemn nod of confirmation.

"Why?" Was all Harry could say.

Draco shrugged. "I got into trouble."

"Your... your _father_ did this to you?"

"It was a fair punishment!" Draco snapped, more defensively than he'd intended.

"Then what did you do to deserve it?"

Draco dropped his hand back to the bar, gripping it again, his wrist still exposed. "I wanted to bring something with me to Hogwarts to impress the other first years. I knew I'd be in Slytherin, and they're very impressed by power." He paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "I snuck into my father's private study, looking for something suitable to take, and he caught me."

Harry looked at him in alarm. "This was before your first year?"

Draco's lip wrinkled up, but it was more a pained expression than a prideful one. "So?"

"You were only eleven, and your father chained you up in a dungeon?"

"It was only for one night." Draco shrugged off Harry's disbelief.

Harry took a half-step backwards, eyes going wide, not wanting to hear what Draco was saying. It didn't matter though. He'd already seen enough in Draco's eyes to know. The Malfoys might like to think they had class, but they were just as heartless as the Dursleys. Forcing submission, obedience. The Dursleys had never broken Harry, yet in a perverse play of psychology, the Malfoys had broken Draco.

The thought of Draco as a captive in his own house, to his own family name, a slave to Voldemort, trained carefully, honed to sharp perfection, imprisoned by the echoes of his own upbringing, imprisoned by his own scars.

And Harry understood.

This was Malfoy. The boy was who he was, a product of his heritage; but new ideas were beginning to take root, wildflowers in a carefully cultivated field. He was a Malfoy, but he was also Draco, and past the deeply ingrained loathing he still held for Malfoy, Harry couldn't help but see him for what he was, who he was, and why. Willing participant though Draco was, he was yet another victim.

Harry felt something squeeze inside his chest. For a moment, he mistook it for pity, but it wasn't. He blinked in surprise. By Merlin's beard, he was empathizing with Draco Malfoy.

"Only for one night," he echoed, staring at Draco blankly, searching for any hint that this was all a joke, even though he knew perfectly well that it wasn't. The Malfoy he knew would never admit any weakness, especially not as a joke. Harry realized it must actually be difficult for him to admit to this.

"It was a lesson I needed to learn," Draco said dryly.

"What kind of bloody lesson, Malfoy?" Harry asked, suddenly angry, though not at Draco. "What kind of lesson requires an eleven year old boy to be chained to a dungeon wall overnight?"

"It wasn't all that terrible!" Draco protested, trying vainly to reclaim his ego. He pulled his hand back from the bar and absent mindedly began rubbing his wrist. "Father wanted me to learn some obedience. I had disobeyed him, and it was wrong. I had to learn to be worthy of my name, learn that I had to earn power, not take it. He wanted me to be strong..." His voice trailed off.

Harry regarded Draco with a pinched expression for a moment. "Did he succeed?"

Draco felt his throat constrict again, and his failure to give a response prompted a knowing nod from Harry.

Still rubbing his wrist, Draco turned away and said softly, "You know what the worst part was?"

"What?"

"Not long after my father left, I got this terrible itch right on the bridge of my nose. I couldn't reach far enough to scratch it all night."

When he looked back up, Harry was smiling again, in a combination of amusement and empathy. Draco gave a small chuckle in return.

"Why didn't you heal your scars with magic?" Harry asked simply.

Blinking once, Draco realized he was still rubbing his wrist and quickly pulled his hands apart and grabbed the bar once again, this time with his other hand, needing something to do with his hands to prevent himself from resuming the nervous motion. "Same reason as you, I think. To remind myself; so that I would never forget."

He looked through the bars, glancing at the famous mark on Harry's forehead, then into his stunning green eyes. "I guess scars really are powerful reminders…"

Harry replied with a neutral snort.

Draco glanced down, inexplicably embarrassed. He'd never spoken about these things with anybody, but here he was, telling his most personal secrets to his sworn enemy.

_But he's not your enemy anymore, is he?_

Draco blinked in response to his errant thought. _No, I guess not._

When Draco blinked again, he was shocked to find two thick tears spilling down his cheeks, finally escaping after he'd tried so hard to hold them back. He was about to turn away again when a now-familiar jolt worked its way up his arm as Harry reached through the bars and wrapped his finger's around Draco's wrist. The silent tears turned into a grunt of protest. He tried to pull his hand away, but Harry held it fast, before drawing Draco's hand through the bars just a few centimeters. Draco was surprised to find that he didn't feel the immediate urge to pull back again.

Harry turned Draco's hand over softly, almost tenderly, and pushed the sleeve away from the circle of dark smudges around the wrist. Holding Draco's palm with one hand, Harry ran two of his fingers lightly along the blemished skin, tracing the old scars. He overturned Draco's hand, exposing the sensitive underside of the wrist, and his fingers came to a rest over his pulse point.

Draco could feel his own artery beating against Harry's fingertips. He also felt startlingly vulnerable. Like this, Harry could do any number of violent things to him, but Draco knew with a disarming certainty that cruelty wasn't what Harry had in mind. It was as though Harry was deciding for himself if Draco did, indeed, have a heart. Of course, Draco knew that he did, for that heart happened to be thundering in his chest, and Draco was equally certain Harry felt the elevated pulse. When he appeared to have reached his conclusion, he gave Draco's hand a single tight squeeze and released it.

Draco didn't move. Hand still held out before him, still feeling the lingering touch across his wrist, he tried to stave off the cold hollowness that was seeping through him again, the familiar emptiness that had been his only companion within the walls he had built around himself.

The walls had crumbled.

It was a deadly error: he had allowed himself to feel. His protection, which had been growing progressively thinner in Harry's presence, was gone. All the years of careful training, torn down by a single touch, and he was about to go face to face with The Dark Lord.

Still frozen in place, he asked in a raspy, raw whisper, "Why did you do that?" He glanced back up at Potter's pensive expression, and repeated, harsher this time, " _Why_?"

Harry shrugged, but it wasn't a casual movement. Looking as though tears were going to spill from his own eyes, even though they were perfectly dry, he said softly: "I had to. I don't know why. I just had to see..."

Draco was caught between the tremendous pulling urge to give himself over to the release he felt in allowing himself to be human, to speak openly, to touch; and the fear that was welling up in the back of his mind like icy black water. For Merlin's sake, he was _in_ Voldemort's headquarters! To be weak here was to forfeit your life, and Potter was right. He _was_ scared.

_Terrified._

Withdrawing his hand suddenly, he pulled it tightly to his chest, hugging it close to him, and stood as straight as he could against the terror thundering through his veins. He looked at Harry despairingly. "Don't you _ever_ do that again."

"What? I only thought... "

"Well you thought wrong, Potter!" he howled. "You have no _idea_ what you just did."

Harry took a step back, visibly stunned. "What do you mean, what _I_ just did?"

"What you did! You... you just ruined everything!"

"How did I ruin _anything_? For someone who you stabbed, captured, and handed over to Voldemort, I'd say that I've been inhumanly kind to you! I was _trying_ to help you! From what I could tell, we're both up against Voldemort, and you're scared stiff! I happen to know what that's like. Obviously you don't."

"You have NO idea what it's like for me right now!"

"Fine, Malfoy. Next time you're at the point of tears, remind me to be a heartless bastard to you! Apparently that's how you people function around here!"

Draco stomped his foot in frustration, hot emotions pulsing behind his eyes again. "That's _exactly_ what I need! You just don't get it!"

"Well, fuck, Malfoy. Explain it to me then, because for once, you're right. I _don't_ get it."

Draco turned his head to the side, trying desperately to pull a coherent thought the haze that seemed to be permeating his mind, before giving the calmest response he could muster.

"Five days ago, Potter, when I was planning all this, I was ready. I could have faced Voldemort. Detached, cold, calculating; that's how you've got to be around him. Raw anger is the only emotion you can allow yourself, because it covers your fear, allows you to hate. That's what I was trained for. I was barely ready and only because I had taught myself not to feel, but I could have done it. That's what it's all about Potter. Controlling your fear, controlling your emotions. The Dark Lord can look right through your eyes and into your soul. Did you know that?"

Harry cringed inwardly, but said nothing.

"If your walls break down, if he sees your fear, then you're not worthy. If you're not worthy, you get discarded. I hope I don't need to explain that to you."

"Not at all, I think I can work it out for myself" Harry said bluntly. "I just figured a little bit of support might not hurt…"

"That's exactly what's going to kill me here, Potter! You really _don't_ get it, do you?"

Draco squashed the palm of his hand into his face in frustration. There was no reason not to just spill everything out. He barely had the strength to hold it in anyway, even if he'd wanted to. It was time to be honest, with himself as much as with Potter. He sucked in a slow breath through his shaking fingers before pulling his hands away.

"I've been taught to stand on my own, not to feel anything. You're the only person who could pull emotion out of me that I couldn't stop, but as long as that was anger, I was still safe. You just broke down the only defense that I had, Potter. In three bloody days, you destroyed me."

Harry's jaw hung loosely as he listened to Draco's ranting.

Draco barely noticed the ease with which he was giving away so much himself through his words. It felt good to let it all pour out. His thoughts boiled freely to the surface, coming hot and fast.

"As long as you were pushing at me, I could still hate you. But _no_ , you had to go and turn into a human being on me. Had to become real. Fuck, you even decided to be _nice_. All of a sudden, you forced me to actually _feel._ I have no defense against that. Now, I've got nothing, no walls, no safeties... nothing to defend me against The Dark Lord."

He laughed bitterly. "It's almost ironic. I bring you here to your death, and you just as effectively kill me."

Harry inhaled sharply in amazement at the sudden openness Draco was displaying, the painful honesty. "You're not dead yet, Malfoy."

Draco snorted. "Close enough. And isn't that what you always wanted to see anyway?"

Harry's eye twitched. "No, Malfoy," he said finally. "That's not what I want."

Draco appeared doubtful. "Even though I did this to you?" He said, indicating the cell, the dungeons around them.

Harry considered the haunted look in Draco's eyes. Draco's skin was paler than usual. The cold sweat starting to break out on his forehead and the dark circles under his eyes were all proof that Draco was drained, emotionally and physically. The faint trembling in his pale pink lips; the strained shaking in his stance, further demonstrated this fact. When was the last time the boy had slept?

"No," Harry responded with a firm gentleness. "Because no human being deserves to have to deal with this, Malfoy. And you're human, too."

Draco felt his knees connect with the floor as his legs finally gave way beneath him. He knelt still for a moment, numb to the world around him, not feeling, not hearing, not seeing. If he were to do any of those things, he'd be human again, and he dreaded that beyond all else.

_Humans are frail. They bleed, they break, they scar, they die._

_I don't want to die._

_Not here. Not like this._

"I don't want to die."

"I understand that. Neither do I." Harry's voice broke through the haze.

Draco hadn't been aware that he'd spoken aloud. He realized just how exhausted he really was, starting to lose control of his faculties, even becoming a bit hysterical. Blinking a couple of times as though that would clear the fog that was pervading his brain, he pulled his head up against the leaden weight that seemed to have settled over him.

He gazed blearily through the bars to where Potter was now kneeling just across from him; watched as Harry wrapped a small hand around one of the bars between them. The edges of the scabs on his wrist were still visible under the cuff of his sleeve. Draco stared at it for a while, then back up at Harry's face, which was examining him with something like concern.

It was then Draco realized the edges of Harry's features were blurry. In fact, everything was melting together like a watercolour painting left out in the rain. He only vaguely remembered that that it had been hours since he'd taken his S _leepless Nights_ potion, and the tiny part of his brain that was still functioning logically berated him for his forgetfulness. Not that it mattered, of course. It was too late anyway.

Feeling his upper body tilt forward as his sense of balance faded, Draco's hand snapped up and grasped a bar for support, brushing against Harry's hand. He could feel the heat radiating off of it and the tiny jolt that broke through the spreading numbness, and it gave him a moment's strength, just enough to whisper, "Thank you."

Then, he was sagging forward against the bars, his exhaustion finally overtaking him. He felt a hand grip his own, and the last thing he heard before he passed out was his name.

"Malfoy? Malfoy! Draco!"

"Malfoy?" A familiar voice called harshly in his ear as something poked him in the back.

 _Go away,_ he thought. _I'm so tired. So very tired. Leave me alone._

"Malfoy! Wake up! You've been asleep for hours. Argh!"

The urgency and pain in the voice finally pulled Draco out of his blissfully dreamless sleep, and he realized with a start where he was: slouched against the bars of Potter's cell on the floor.

 _Asleep on the job._ _In The Dark Lord's headquarters._ _Oh fuck._

With a surge of pure terror, he leapt to his feet, teetering unsteadily for a moment.

He scanned the dungeon rapidly, caught up in the irrational fear that someone had arrived and caught him sleeping on the floor. Instead, the room was empty, and he was still alone with Potter. Furious that another human frailty had put his life at risk, he took out his anger on the only target available.

"Potter! You dumb git! How the hell could you have...? "

Draco suddenly fell silent when he realized that Harry was still on his knees. Only now, he was rubbing his forehead with his hands. Draco knew that could only mean one thing.

"He's back?"

Still rubbing, Harry nodded confirmation. "He's back."

Draco felt his eyes go wide. "Why did you let me sleep like that?"

Harry dropped his hand and squinted through the stinging pain. "You needed the sleep."

"But what if he'd come back, and decided to come down here?" Draco stammered, still edgy.

"I knew I'd realize the instant Voldemort returned. I reckoned I'd be nice for once and let you get some rest."

A flash of warm gratitude welled up in Draco only an instant before the fear grasped him again. His sleep-numbed brain was still struggling to awaken, and irrationality quickly joined his fear.

"Fuck! That means he's coming for me soon! How the hell am I going to do this? He'll take one look at me, and he'll know. He'll know I'm not strong enough. Oh Merlin…"

Harry watched as Draco began to pace the small section of corridor frantically, and a look of regret ghosted across his features.

Draco stopped pacing suddenly and swung round to stare at Harry. "I told you, don't look at me like that! You'll only make it worse. That is, unless you really are trying to kill me, which I wouldn't put past you."

Harry appeared to consider this, then his entire expression changed. He pulled himself to his feet. His eyes narrowed maliciously behind his glasses and his mouth screwed up in a devious smirk. "Who cares, Malfoy? You're just a slimy Slytherin git anyway. A little snake, bowing and scraping at the feet of the biggest snake of all."

"What the hell…?" Draco was completely taken aback by the abrupt change of attitude in his captive, not quite awake enough to keep page with the sudden shift in conversation.

"Yeah, Malfoy. That's it. Just shivering in your boots now, aren't you? That's right, his cowering little snake on a leash. A short leash at that."

"What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Heh, the matter with me? Absolutely nothing. Remember? I'm Voldemort's prime target, but _you're_ the one who's scared witless."

"Bugger you... you... you pathetic little scar-head!"

"Scar-head? Is that the best you can do, ferret-boy? Maybe Voldemort would like a ferret to go with his pet rat. Do you remember how to bounce, Malfoy?"

Draco sputtered for a moment at the memory, feeling the furious embarrassment from the incident as fresh as a new wound, and remembering how Potter had been the cause of it, before blurting out, "You arrogant bastard!"

"That's 'Arrogant-Bastard-Who-Lived' to you, ferret-boy." Harry was beginning to look very pleased with himself. "I've gone four rounds with Voldemort and I'm still kicking. What will be your title after your little visit with Voldemort? 'Malfoy, the Cowering-Ferret-Who-Didn't-Quite-Make-It.' That sounds good."

Draco clenched his fists as he glared at Harry, the boy's casual demeanor infuriating him even more. "You sodding little self-righteous freak! After everything I did for you; you know something, you can forget it! You-Know-Who could slice you open and leave you to bleed to death for all I care! I'll watch and I'll laugh!"

"Not if Voldemort has already done you in, you won't. You're so pitiful, Malfoy. You really are."

Everything spilled over. Seething, every muscle along his neck bulging unnaturally, Draco had finally had enough. "FUCK YOU!"

"Are you angry or something, Malfoy?" Harry taunted, looking strangely satisfied.

"Bloody hell I'm angry!"

"Not scared, are you, you spineless coward?"

"I'm never scared!" The response was automatic, something Draco had repeated to himself so many times through his youth. He felt nothing but the familiar old sense of rage flooding through his veins. Hot. Burning. Pushing out everything else.

He glared at Harry, mentally cursing the boy for his stupidity, his lack of gratitude, his obnoxious manners. He felt angry. He felt powerful. He felt...

Still wincing slightly against the pain in his forehead, Harry nodded once in approval. "Good. Then stay that way, you stupid prat."

Draco only had a split second to register what Harry had actually done before he heard the dungeon door crash open and Lucius Malfoy enter the passageway in a fury. Draco turned to greet his father with a respectful nod, and everything fell automatically into place.

All his old practiced mannerisms, from his facial expressions to his posture flowed as smoothly as the lines of a flawless sculpture that had been years in the making. This particular piece of art had been carved from his cold anger, which Potter had taken from him and just as easily returned to its place. In three days, without magic, Harry had torn Draco apart and rebuilt him. Still, underneath it all the architecture held a hidden element that hadn't existed before. Or, perhaps, Draco had just never been aware of it until now.

Lucius cast Harry a quick sneer before rounding on to his son. There was no warm greeting, merely business as usual. "The raids last night were largely successful Draco, so the Dark Lord should be in a fairly moderate mood. He's waiting for you in the main hall."

Draco began to feel the icy tide of fear washing over him again, but just as quickly latched onto his residual anger like a lifeline. He bobbed his head in a short bow and answered, "Yes, father."

A flicker of worry and parental affection briefly graced Lucius' eyes, but it was quickly buried. "You will succeed, Draco. Remember your training. The Dark Lord demands subservience, but he does not allow weakness in his followers. When he walks, follow behind him. Two steps back and to his left, until he invites you to walk next to him. Keep your eyes down until he tells you to look at him. He will question you, and when he does, bear in mind that everything and everyone is secondary to your obedience to him."

Unable or unwilling to speak for fear of letting his emotions crack through, Draco merely bowed his head once more.

"Very well, then," Lucius said with a casualness that belied the situation. "I'm relieving you of guard duty until you return." An unspoken _"if you return"_ hung in the air, an ever-present worry when in Voldemort's company.

"Now..." he said, inclining his head towards the exit, "The Dark Lord is waiting."

Draco took one last look at his father's face, searching for any further signs of concern and worry, but there was nothing. Only the aristocratic façade; the trademark Malfoy sneer. As he turned to leave, however, he caught a quick glimpse of Harry, who was watching him intently, sending silent encouragement when Lucius had appeared for all the world not to care.

He couldn't afford to make any actual gesture, but Draco was sure that Harry caught the gratitude he felt. If Voldemort could see what Draco was thinking through his eyes, for some reason, he was most certain that Harry could, too. Where both of those ideas had once terrified him, the latter no longer did. The former... well, he was about to find out. Without another glance, Draco turned and exited the dungeons, letting the door fall with a heavy bang.

The stone stairs were just a bit too large for a comfortable stride, and lit by sconces placed too far apart for Draco's liking. As he climbed, he considered exactly what Harry had just done for him. It brought new meaning to the concept "cruel to be kind." Harry had been listening to what Draco had said. Listening and understanding. Draco could still feel the flush of anger in his cheeks, and his pulse was still elevated from that heated row. He carefully nursed that angry fire, trying to turn it back on its source; Potter. He had to find enough fuel to keep it going, but the more he thought of the strange kindness Harry had shown, the more incapable of the feeling he became.

He turned his thoughts away from Harry, and focused on the hollow sound of his footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell, trying to pull his thoughts away from Potter.

Footsteps. Hollow, empty, like his life, or more specifically, the way his life had been.

Hollow, the way he'd been raised to be, devoid of any real human sentiment.

All the things he'd been denied growing up; his harsh training, his lessons, echoing in his brain like footsteps in the corridor.

The way he'd been sharpened and honed with one purpose, one goal in life, to be the perfect servant to Voldemort.

Born, raised, and trained into slavery.

Cowering in fear _… he hated it with a passion._

The burning anger returned; hot, but faceless. Empty, hollow fury.

He reached the top of the staircase and surveyed the hall spread out before him. A high ceiling, lit mostly by daylight filtering through tall, narrow windows. No amenities, no decoration or ornaments. Cold, heartless, purely functional and grand in size only. It was the perfect palace for the Dark Lord. Wooden doors lined either side of the entrance hall, but at the far end was one door which stood larger than the others.

This was it, and Draco was ready as he ever would be.

He didn't actually notice that he was walking towards the door; more he saw it loom larger and larger until he was at last moving through it. Standing just five meters away, appearing as terrible as Draco's memory of him, was Voldemort.

Draco took two smooth steps into the room and immediately dropped to one knee, staring at the floor in front of him. To approach any closer would be inappropriate for an Uninitiated.

"My Lord," he said, in his best-groomed manners.

Voldemort did not speak but instead closed the gap between himself and Draco. Once again, Draco found himself staring at the shiny toes of Voldemort's boots. He mentally willed an artificial sense of calmness into his body, keeping his mind silent but alert, like a predator.

"Tell me, my young snake, are you a child or a man?"

His mind turned a quick somersault over the unexpected question. Draco's first instinct was to answer that he was most certainly a man, but he caught himself. He couldn't make that claim without Voldemort's approval. Instead, he replied, "My Lord, I am nothing but your humble servant, for you to name."

Silence fell over the hall, and Draco began to fear that he had answered incorrectly.

After a few dreadful moments however, a harsh, short laugh escaped from Voldemort. "Indeed," he said. "Very astute, young Malfoy. If only all my servants were as sharp and so accurate. But then, none of them brought me Harry Potter. Follow."

With that, Voldemort stepped past Draco and swiftly walked from the room, washing Draco's face in a brush of cold air that smelled like the stones of a dungeon as he passed. Draco scrambled to his feet and quickly fell in step behind the Dark Lord, to the left, two strides back, as his father had instructed. He had no idea where Voldemort was leading him, but it wasn't his place to question. It is never the place for a servant to question the master.

The two sets of footsteps echoed in perfect time through the entrance hall and down the deserted corridors, right up to the bottom of a spiraling staircase. Voldemort began to climb, and Draco, swallowing his growing unease, could only continue to follow blindly.

"Malfoy, are you prepared to sacrifice anything to gain power?"

Another double-edged question.

"In the name of serving you, My Lord, anything." The words sounded fake to Draco's ears, as though he couldn't believe they had come from his own mouth. One more reaction that had been programmed into his mind since early childhood.

"Really now?" The challenge hung in the air as they continued to climb.

Draco swallowed. "Yes, My Lord."

"You are an ambitious little snake, young Malfoy, but perhaps too young. One of my most loyal servants was barely your age when he joined the ranks of my followers though. Based on your father's assurances that you were well suited to both the task and the merits of the Malfoy name, I permitted you an opportunity. In response to that chance, you brought me Harry Potter." The Dark Lord seemed to be musing more to himself than to Draco. "Your ambition could take you far, perhaps to the top ranks amongst the Death Eaters, but such power has its price."

Draco knew that nothing came without a price; that everything had to be earned. The idea was nothing new to him, but still he listened intently as they continued their ascent, feeling he would be ready for this challenge.

"Are you willing to kill, Malfoy?"

"At your command and without hesitation." Draco answered automatically.

They reached a small landing, and with frightening suddenness Voldemort spun in his place, rounding on Draco so fast that it was all the boy could do to stop before colliding with the Dark Lord. He sank to one knee, quickly bowing his head.

"At my command…" Voldemort said slowly, rolling each word around in his mouth as though he were tasting a sip of fine wine, "and without hesitation."

Draco had been prepared to answer that question for years. But now, to actually have said it... it sounded different. Voldemort's glare pressed on the top of his head, and Draco struggled to keep his mind blank.

"Without hesitation," Voldemort echoed again. "Tell me, what if you needed to kill or displace a less worthy follower in order to rise in the ranks?"

Draco froze at this question. "What do you mean, My Lord?"

Voldemort laughed, a short, cruel laugh. "A Death Eater does not gain influence by my word alone. Surely you were aware of that?"

"Yes, My Lord." Draco answered automatically.

"Good. I will have none but the best as my followers, and only the best of those are worthy of climbing the ranks. A true Death Eater would never let himself be led by an inferior."

"Yes, my Lord."

"And if you are capable of defeating someone, you are superior. Simple logic of course. How do you rank, Malfoy? How much power are you willing to claim? With a performance such as the one you gave me when you captured Potter, I would expect you to live up to your family name. Your father shows his cunning to me through his... dealings with others, and he ranks quite favourably. However, it is always good to see fresh blood, if it is proved worthy."

Draco didn't like where this was going. Not one bit.

"How much do you crave power, young Malfoy? Are you a true Slytherin? Will you do what it takes? Are you even willing to... _displace_ your father?"

Draco felt his guts freeze. Surely he couldn't be expected to…

There would never be a reason to...

His father was as loyal as anyone! Why would Voldemort suggest such a thing? It was unthinkable, killing his own father. The very suggestion made him feel as though he was a rooster being put to a cockfight for the amusement of the master, and he hated it.

The Dark Lord certainly noticed Draco's hesitation. "Malfoy, there is no place for sentiment in someone who wishes to follow. You either serve me single-mindedly, or you do not serve me at all. Do not tell me that you are sentimental over your father."

"No, My Lord," Draco said quickly.

"Are you certain?"

Draco thought about this carefully. Now would be the wrong time to lie. However, it didn't feel like a lie. "I am certain, my Lord."

An expectant pause hung uncomfortably between them.

"Are you loyal to him?"

Well certainly, thought Draco, though of course he couldn't say that. His loyalty was to Voldemort, and Voldemort alone. His father had said so... which was exactly the key to the answer.

Bowing his head even lower, Draco replied, "My loyalty to my father extends only so far as he instructed me to give my loyalty, first and foremost, to you, My Lord."

Draco listened to the sound of his own breathing, which seemed unnaturally loud in his ears as he waited for some sign that the Dark Lord approved.

"A valuable lesson to learn. Your father seems to have trained you well. Thus, if I commanded it, could you kill him?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort must have approved, for as he took one step back, he said shortly, "Walk beside me."

Draco should have felt honoured to be invited to walk alongside the Dark Lord, but instead, he felt like a dog being made to heel. He vaguely wondered what he should do if Voldermort instructed him to bark like a dog as well.

It was in silence that they reached the top of the long staircase, opening into what was obviously a lookout tower, with one window at each of the cardinal directions.

It was still early morning, Draco could see, and the nighttime mists had still not burned away completely from the forest that spread around them in all directions. Instinctively, Draco checked his directional bearings by the angle of the sun. His father had taught him that, just another facet of his training. It was yet another reminder that for his entire life, he'd been training for conflict of one sort or another.

Voldemort approached the south window and looked out. "Look, Malfoy." It wasn't an invitation, but a command. Draco stepped to the window. It was a spectacular view of a wooded valley surrounded by high mountains, but the Dark Lord does not waste his time admiring the scenery with prospective Death Eaters, so what was he meant to be looking at?

"Just over one-hundred miles to the south lies the first victory I shall have in my conquest of the Wizarding world."

Draco's heart gave a little leap. _Hogwarts._ His mind quickly flashed to the familiar memories of his warm bed, the dungeons, the daily routine. They were so close to Hogwarts.

Voldemort must have noticed his homesick expression, and his words hissed warningly. "You, of course do not feel any undue sentiment towards Hogwarts, do you Malfoy?" Not a question, but a threat. "Look at me."

Draco rapidly calmed his mind, put on his best neutral mask.

This was not the time to panic.

Still, nothing could have quite prepared him to meet those hideous red eyes. Like Harry's, they ripped through him, and tore him apart. Unlike Harry's, there was no humanity behind them, no passion, no truth. The sibilant voice grated against his ears again. "Tell me, Malfoy. Does Hogwarts hold any meaning for you?"

_Do not lie. He'll know. You can't lie._

Draco's own mental advice wrapped around his thoughts. "My Lord, Hogwarts is... familiar to me, nothing more."

"I see," Voldemort's eyes narrowed to angular red slits and Draco had to look away again. Voldemort laughed at his obvious nervousness.

"Ah yes, _familiar_." He spoke with a twisted sort of nostalgia. "Hogwarts is familiar to me as well, remember? I spent seven years there, surrounded by Mudblood filth. Forced to be contaminated by wizards who pretended to care for the future of magic, as they polluted it with their mere presence."

"Malfoy," Voldemort's voice was once again sharp and direct, "I am not fully convinced that you have no sentiment towards Hogwarts. You shall have to prove that your loyalty is unerring. You will lead one prong of the attack."

"Yes, My Lord," Draco said blankly, trying not to actually think about what Voldemort had just said.

"You should be pleased to have this honour, Malfoy. As the school crumbles, you will see where power lies. You shall taste the power of absolute control over life and death…and fear. To control a person's fear is to own him completely. You will feel that power over those who are rightfully your inferiors: Mudbloods, Halfbloods and Muggles. A Death Eater knows how to gain power through fear. You, Malfoy, will learn this as well."

He paused, and Draco felt himself sweating beneath his collar. This sounded so familiar... so familiar...

_Potter._

Harry had already told him this. Every last bit of it. Power through fear... empty power... not caring... only taking. _He knew, damn him. He knew..._

"A Death Eater also knows when to fear, Malfoy. Not the pitiful cowering you will elicit from the Mudbloods, but proper respect for your superiors; for your life, your glory hangs on the threads of your fear. You have the potential to become one of my most valuable servants, but remember your place. Forfeit your life; do not forget who is master.

"You are master, My Lord." Draco said quickly as he bent his head and shoulders forward in a deep bow, but his mind was reeling.

Nothing but a servant, a pawn, in the Dark Lord's game. A week ago, this thought would never have so much as occurred to him. Now, it was all he could think about. It all made so much horrible sense.

He gritted his teeth, still staring at the floor. He was fearful, yes, but a strange hurt was growing in his chest... pain. Dispelled by the words of Voldemort himself, Draco's beliefs, the tenements on which he based his whole life, were flying away from him. With no convictions, no underlying beliefs, the only things grounding him to reality were the quivering threads of his fear.

Then something much more tangible pulled him back to reality faster than he could blink.

The sharp bite of honed steel pressed into the soft hollow at the base of his neck, not breaking flesh, but just barely. Draco felt his heart stop in his chest.

Voldemort's long fingers played along the handle of the dagger he held, and his voice hissed maliciously. "Am I master, young Malfoy? Truly? Do you cower in fear like a child in front of me, unworthy to call me master, or do you bow to me in humble fear and respect like a proper servant?"

Fighting to still his trembling, and trying harder still to quell the immediate instinct to jumping back from the dagger at his throat, Draco gave the only answer he could muster. "I wish for nothing but to serve you, my Lord."

"To serve me, Malfoy, is to serve with a single purpose. To hesitate on my command is to invite a fate worse than death."

Right now, with the edge of the dagger beginning to take purchase in his sensitive flesh, Draco didn't want to consider a fate worse than death, but he was sure that the Dark Lord could think of something.

"Can you follow any order, Malfoy? Would you do anything on my command? Without hesitation? I must know that you are worthy. I must know that you are capable. Are you _truly_ loyal?"

"My life is yours, my Lord, to destroy if you choose."

"Ah, but what if I gave that choice to you?"

Choices... _choices..._ The shock that ripped through Draco at this statement almost pulled his attention back from the blade until Voldemort shifted his grip, causing the sharp metal to dig a little deeper. If this was a choice, it was a dreadful set of options. But then, it was his own choices that had led him to this point in the first place.

"I will not move this blade, Malfoy. However, were I to command you to impale yourself on the dagger in my hand, could you do it? Service to me is absolute. Unquestioning."

Draco felt his stomach drop, and a numbness seemed to overtake him. He couldn't get his lips to move, couldn't reply. He swallowed once, trying to force his dry throat to function, to give the expected response, but it was no use. There was only one way he could give his reply.

Taking a deep breath, Draco leaned forward just a fraction of a centimeter. He stifled his reaction as the blade finally broke skin, and he felt a warm trickle of blood trail down his chest. He stopped and waited for any sign from Voldemort that he had passed this test. Right now, with the tip of a knife burrowed into his flesh, at the hands of Voldemort, failure could only mean one thing.

He waited several agonizing seconds. The sharp sting at his throat was nothing compared to the icy fear wrenching at his heart in his chest, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Then, the blade was withdrawn.

"Very well, young Malfoy. You do indeed have the makings of a Death Eater, but your full loyalty must still be proven. Be certain where you stand, Malfoy. Now, you may return to your guard post."

And that was that.

No ceremonious goodbye, nothing to mark his success in surviving this meeting with Voldemort. The Dark Lord turned back to the window, summarily dismissing him.

"Yes, my Lord." Draco wasn't certain how he actually got to his feet, dazed as he was. He'd only just become aware that he'd even moved when he found that he was almost at the bottom of the staircase. There was no sound behind him, no sign that Voldemort had followed. No indication there was another living soul in the place, and Draco certainly felt isolated enough.

His legs were shaking beneath him. After the flood of emotions, this felt like an aftershock. With that, along with the sick feel of blood still oozing down his chest, he found that he couldn't manage to stagger the rest of the way to the dungeons. Not now, not like this. He needed to collect himself.

Brushing his hand along the wall to keep his balance, he half-stumbled, half-ran along the corridor until he reached the first room with an open, unlocked door, and ducked inside. A quick spell locked it behind him.

Alone in the deserted room, Draco finally lost his nerve. He leaned his head back against the wall and slowly slid to the ground as his legs gave out, shaking miserably. His breathing was harsh and ragged, but still, he wouldn't cry out loud, nor would he let tears escape him. He didn't deserve to be allowed to cry. His own decisions, his own choices, had brought him here. It was nobody's burden but his own, and he deserved the torment he'd earned.

It was his choice: to live his life in servitude to a man who wanted nothing more than his fear.

Draco reached up to his neck and ran his fingers against the painful puncture wound, then down through the slippery trail of blood that was still oozing down his chest, dabbling his fingers in the crimson liquid. He pulled his hand away and held it out in front of him, the pads of his fingers coated in thick spots of his own partially dried, clotting blood. With a morbid fascination, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, watching as the blood dried completely and formed sticky little clumps. The flecks of blood fell to the floor, just as Harry's blood had fallen from his father's fingers.

Harry's blood on Draco's dagger, Draco's blood on Voldemort's dagger... except Harry never had a choice.

Draco choked back his gasps and sobs as he realized he had freely given his own blood to Voldemort. He _was_ given a choice. Voldemort had said so. Even Harry had said he had a choice. Draco had just never seen the choice for himself until it was too late; he hadn't been ready for it.

Inevitably, the need for an immediate decision had come. His father would have said he'd made the strong decision. The honourable choice. Lucius Malfoy would have been proud to see his son just then. However, Draco knew better. Strength hadn't been his motive. The only thing that had pulled him forward onto the blade had been fear. Puppet on a string, dance for the Dark Prince, you foolish jester.

_You're a pawn, Draco._

_You've been played your entire life._

_Brainwashed to be the perfect slave to the Dark Lord_.

_Bow down to your master, Draco._ _Grovel like a House Elf. Cower in fear. Sacrifice your own life at his mere whim._

_You can't say no. It's too late for that. The choice isn't yours anymore. You made your decision already._

The voices in his head taunted mercilessly.

_You never even would have realized the mess you were in if your sworn rival hadn't knocked some sense into you._

_Potter..._

It was Potter he had to blame for putting ideas like this in his head. Without Potter to turn things upside down, inside out, and through himself, he would have been more than content to be Voldermort's circus performer. Damn Potter, with his chivalry. Damn him for being right. Damn him for every single glorious piece of misery to which he had subjected Draco...

And then it dawned on him. Harry was still alone in the dungeons with his father. Draco felt a little more blood drain from his face.

_Oh shit..._

Not knowing quite why the idea of Harry being trapped with his father scared him so much, or considering why on earth he was worried about the boy in the first place, Draco unlocked the door without a second thought and found himself racing towards the dungeons. His heartbeats drowned out even the sounds of his footsteps thundering down the corridor. He skidded slightly as he took a sharp right turn to the dungeon staircase, bolted down the stairs, and almost slammed into the door at the bottom. Heart pounding, he threw the latch and hauled the heavy wooden door open.

Somehow, Draco had expected screaming, arguing, or even howls of pain to greet him, but the passage was eerily silent. He pulled the door shut behind him and held his breath, listening, waiting, his feet frozen in place. Then he caught it; a choked gasp, the sound of someone straining through some sort of hideous pain.

_Harry._

He tore down the passage, taking the turn that led to Harry's cell. His feet and his breath came to a dead stop as he caught a full view of the scene laid out before him.

Harry was on the floor, face-down, writhing, gasping for breath, obviously the victim of The Cruciatus Curse... and Lucius's wand was still trained on him. Harry's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and as before, his mouth was wide open, gasping for air, but not screaming.

Lucius finally noticed Draco's arrival and lowered his wand. Harry's rigid body collapsed limp against the floor, as the curse was removed, and Lucius turned towards Draco. A delighted sneer was written boldly across his face.

"Draco, you've returned in time for a bit of fun. It is good that you have returned, of course." He eyed the smear of blood at Draco's collar. "You obviously met the Dark Lord's approval. I expected no less. Potter seemed to insinuate that you might not. Then the little bastard had the audacity to suggest that I had no concern for your welfare. I felt it necessary to remind him of his manners." A wicked smile that was all teeth spread along Lucius's face.

Draco flicked his gaze towards Harry casually, appearing to scoff at him. In reality, he was checking to see how much damage his father had inflicted. He saw Harry's arm move, and his dark head turn to the side as a groan escaped him.

 _At least he's conscious,_ Draco thought with relief. Out loud, he answered, "I'm sure you've taught him a most valuable lesson, father. He needs teaching. "

At this, Lucius's face pulled itself up into another very unpleasant sort of smile. "Certainly, Draco. However, the boy wasn't insulting me. His first insult was directed at you. Perhaps you should have the honour of completing his lesson?"

Draco stared at his father in disbelief. It was only through force of will that he kept his mouth from falling open.

_Think fast, Draco. Think fast._

"Father... I've never used an Unforgivable Curse. What if I am unable to work it?"

"Draco," his father said patronizingly, "you'll need to use these curses soon enough. What better time to practice?"

There was no escaping this, Draco realized. If he didn't do it, his father would suspect disloyalty. If he outwardly refused, he would die anyway, and so would Harry. For some reason, he hadn't really considered the fact that it mattered to him what Harry's fate would be, but somehow, he knew it did. He also knew he didn't want to hurt Harry. He felt guilty enough already.

If he used The Cruciatus, he could apologize later, explain why he'd done it. And then it would all be alright. A poor excuse to be sure, but it had to be enough. There was no other option. All he had to do was not think about what he was doing. He just couldn't allow himself to see the human being at the other end of his wand. To work an Unforgivable, he needed to feel anger, detached hollow rage. He couldn't allow himself to feel... whatever it was he seemed to be feeling for the boy lying face-down in the cell.

He braced himself and dug around inside for the last scraps of rage left in him from his encounter with Voldemort. "Yes, father," Draco finally answered, praying that his voice sounded cold and harsh, because to his own ears, he sounded scared as hell. His fingers found his wand in his robe pocket. Next to his own wand, Draco's hand brushed against another piece of polished wood he'd placed there: Harry's wand.

When one wizard conquers another, the winner goes the wand of the defeated party, a sign that one has power over the other. Technically, Draco owned Harry. It was his right to torture him. It was also his right to free him. However, in front of his father, if he ever wanted any sort of option of doing the latter, or any options at all come to think of it, he had no choice about the former.

Draco took two steps towards the bars of the cell as he aimed his wand at Harry. His eyes flicked from his father to Harry's prone form. The boy was still moaning softly as the after-effects of the curse slowly wore off.

_Don't think about it, Draco. Just don't think about it. God, Potter, don't look up. Please, just don't look up._

As if in a silent answer to Draco's thoughts, Harry's head finally came up. His glasses were once again scratched and smudged, sitting haphazardly on the end of his nose. Harry opened his eyes blearily and peered up above the rims at Draco.

Draco stared down the length of his wand into Harry's eyes, and something in him snapped.

He couldn't do it.

"Draco," the father's voice came from behind him. "Do not tell me that you have been so taxed by your visit with the Dark Lord that you are unable to accomplish such a simple task." The disapproval and impatience in the words were blatant.

"No, father," Draco responded automatically, but all his attention was on Harry. Those vivid green eyes were silently begging him, pleading with him, not to make him go through the curse again. So tired, so battered and bruised, but not beaten. Even after all that, Harry still hadn't given up. Despite everything, he was trusting Draco not to hurt him. He had actually placed his trust in Draco. It was written clearly in his eyes, which stayed locked solidly with Draco's, not wavering in the slightest, even as the rest of his body trembled.

"I'm not sure, Draco," his father lectured. "You seem disturbed. To have passed The Dark Lord's tests, you must be stronger than this. I did not raise my son to be weak."

"I _am_ strong, father," Draco said with as much conviction as he could muster, which in his estimation wasn't much.

"Then prove it," Lucius snarled.

Draco forced his grip tightly around his wand, and closed his eyes against the emotions that threatened to rip him apart.

Anger.

He needed anger, hatred, but he couldn't feel them, not towards Harry. Not anymore.

He searched for something that infuriated him, but he couldn't pull his thoughts past the hideous situation into which he'd been heartlessly thrown. Only a few days ago, he couldn't have imagined anything better. To have passed the Dark Lord's approval, to have captured Harry Potter, to have his father actually be _proud_ of him; it was everything he'd ever wanted.

Now it seemed different. Thrown there by his father, caged there by Voldemort. Forced into the bidding of a master who wanted the fear of his followers and enemies alike. A master who had held him at knife point, threatening his life over his loyalty. A lifetime of being fed nothing but cold, heartless fear, just to make him the perfect tool to torture and kill...

And there, Draco found his anger.

Eyes still closed, he opened his mouth to begin the curse, but somewhere in the middle of the word "Crucio!" his eyes opened of their own accord, and he caught one last look at Harry's eyes before the curse hit.

There was no fear there, no cowering. Instead, Draco saw the most shocking look of utter betrayal.

And then the curse struck him.

Harry flipped onto his back as though struck by a physical blow. First, he curled up on himself as though he could shy away from the pain, but there was no escape. His arms flailed and his body twitched violently. His mouth opened, but instead of the silent straining, broken only by the occasional gasp, a bone-chilling scream ripped through the dungeons, and through Draco.

Draco pulled his wand away, breaking the curse, mortified and sickened by what he'd done. His unfortunate victim was still lying on his back, sprawled, chest heaving. Draco almost thought he could see Harry's ribs through his shirt. He shifted his attention to Harry's face; the teeth bared between pale lips, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, and something new… one tear rolling down each cheek.

Lucius stepped close behind Draco, and quickly, Draco prayed to whatever powers would listen that what he had already done would be enough. He could never do that again, no matter what he tried.

"Hmmm…" Lucius mused aloud. "You didn't hold The Curse for very long, but you did manage to make him cry out." He lowered his voice. "Even the Dark Lord didn't pull a scream from him."

Draco blinked.

Lucius continued. "You must have used a very powerful curse to succeed in that… Sufficient, for your first attempt."

Yes, father," Draco replied blankly. Voldemort hadn't caused Harry to scream, nor had his father. But he had, and Draco knew why. Physical pain alone wasn't enough to break Harry. Draco, on the other hand, had struck a much deeper kind of injury.

In the cell, Harry moaned once, clutched his stomach, and turned over on to his side.

Draco looked away quickly. He couldn't watch this and maintain the pretense in front of his father. He met Lucius' gaze, and his father favoured him with a brief smile.

"You will serve the Dark Lord well, Draco. Now, I must return to my master." He paused briefly, then smiled again. "Congratulations."

Draco stood still as he listened to his father's footsteps retreating down the passageway. He waited for the dungeon door to swing shut before he dared to look back towards the cell. Harry hadn't moved. He was still lying on his side, facing away from the bars.

In one swift motion, Draco rushed to the bars of the cell and dropped to his knees as close to Harry as possible. "Potter! Potter! Are you okay? God, Potter, please!"

One of Harry's legs shifted, and the answer came back to him in a terribly hoarse voice. "Fuck off, Malfoy."

"Potter, please listen!" After what had just happened with Voldemort, he needed Harry to listen to him. He needed someone to understand, and Harry was the only person who might understand. Without him, Draco was alone. "I didn't mean to do it! I had no choice! I'm sorry! I... "

With a sudden burst of motion, Harry pushed himself upright and glared at Draco with a vehemence that hadn't been there before. "I told you, Malfoy," he growled, "don't you ever tell me you're sorry unless you can prove it."

"But I... "

"I know how the Unforgivables work. You have to really want to hurt someone for them to work." Despite the vehemence in his voice, Harry's body was still shaking terribly, probably going into shock, and Draco's concern peaked.

"But I didn't want to hurt you!" Draco cried, frustration and panic beginning to mount.

"Bugger, Malfoy! Do you really expect me to believe a pile of crap like that?" Harry's words were pure anger, but Draco began to hear the underlying pain breaking through, and that bothered him much more than the anger. "Who'd you want to hurt, Malfoy? Voldemort? You're his little pet, his little puppet. I can't believe I tried to help you."

"Please listen to me!" Draco was almost begging now. "Harry... "

 ** _"DON'T!"_** Harry hissed, shooting him a glare of raw loathing. "Don't you _ever_ use my given name! You. Haven't. Earned. It."

Draco mouthed wordlessly, trapped by the anger in Harry's eyes. He wanted to explain what was happening, wanted Potter to hear him, but it didn't matter. His words would mean nothing. Harry had trusted him, even though there was no substantial reason for that trust, and Draco had betrayed him. Now the only way he could prove anything was by his actions alone, but what actions could he possibly take? Was there anything he could do?

With a sigh of defeat, he just dropped his head. "Right, Potter."

The only response was a disgusted grunt. Harry turned away from him and shuffled slowly across the floor to the wall, settling down with his back turned squarely to Draco, dealing with his pain in isolation. It was a familiar sight to Draco by now, but after everything that had happened, it hurt in a way that was completely foreign to him.

He averted his eyes from Harry, grasped one of the cell bars, and hauled himself heavily to his feet. How was it possible to simultaneously feel crushed between a rock and a hard place, and also as though he were teetering precariously on a tightrope with nothing to grasp?

What would his father think? After years of raising Draco to the very finest Malfoy traditions, to be powerful, to uphold certain ideals, how would Lucius Malfoy react to the idea that his son was having second thoughts? No, these were not second thoughts. These reservations were far beyond second thoughts. Draco may be sworn to serve Voldemort, but he couldn't do that anymore. It was impossible.

After everything he'd seen and felt, he couldn't continue the life he had lived before. The sickening twist of fear in his gut whenever he thought of Voldemort confirmed that. However, far more strange and shocking was the pain he felt in his chest when he thought of Harry. Voldemort was powerful, but Harry had something else, and Draco knew that underneath it all, Harry's approval would have meant much more than Voldemort's.

Once again, Draco reached up to the base of his neck and felt the point where the dried blood had encrusted the wound there; it was the mark of Voldemort's "approval." It was also the mark of a kind of existence that, hopeless as it was, he would be destined to have as Voldemort's servant.

Finally, he turned away from the bars and made his way to the chair Biddy had brought him. Shivering in the cold dungeon air, he wrapped the quilt tightly around his shoulders. His mind drifted involuntarily to the boy sitting on the floor of the cell, and he shivered harder. Alone and imprisoned, Harry was less of Voldemort's tool than he was, and he was stronger. Now, Draco understood exactly what Harry had meant. The choices he made, the prison he'd built for himself, his chains and his servitude. It was no mental game that Harry was trying to play on him. It was cold, sharp, and real, like the dagger Voldemort had held to his throat.

He wouldn't live in fear. Would not continue to be a pawn. He couldn't continue the way he had before.

Then… what could he do?

*********

 

 _My place is of the sun and this place is of the dark  
I do not feel the romance, I do not catch the spark.   
By grace, my sight grows stronger   
And I will not be a pawn   
For the Prince of Darkness   
Any longer. _  
(~Indigo Girls)

 


	7. The Darkest Hour

 

_There's no way out._

Hours blended together, and in the hazy stretch of time, that was the only coherent thought that permeated Harry's emotion-addled mind and pain-wracked body. _There's no way out._ Curled up against the wall, hugging his knees tightly to his chest, his every effort had been given over to blocking out the entire cruel, painful world. Imprisonment had worn him down much more than he'd realized, and recovery was taking much longer than he though it would. Or maybe it just felt longer. Every so often a random muscle would twitch of its own accord, and the ghosts of the Cruciatus Curse would run up and down the muscle and straight into the pit of his queasy stomach.

Other than the occasional spasm, Harry hadn't moved once, refusing to shatter the tiny bubble of seclusion he'd created for himself. If his silent vigil was disrupted, his last grasp on sanity would disappear, and that was just about all he had left. Trapped, without his wand, without an ally, without a prayer, the reality of the situation had finally struck home.

_There's no way out._

Harry had never been trapped quite like this. Every brush with death, every battle with danger, every encounter with Voldemort, had been fast and furious. There hadn't been time to brood; to dwell on his impending fate. No thought, just action. In retrospect, that was probably the only reason he'd survived the other times. This time, however, there were no curses flying, no people screaming, no sudden panic. Just sit and wait. Sit back and pass the time agonizing over a fate that until now had only seemed like a twisted sort of abstract.

Since the attack at the Ministry the previous spring, there had been so many abstract things. Vague hints of Voldemort's whereabouts, extra lessons in Defense Against the Dark Arts sent via owl during the summer months, attempts at reassuring glances from friends; it all fed into this nebulous web he called his life. The completely familiar patterns of terror, determination, and hope; the constant threat, but none of it felt quite real. There was always the underlying knowledge that in the end everything rested on him; but the cold reality of it had always been muted by time and distance. " _When it comes..." "Eventually..." "In the end..."_ Those weren't " _here and now_." Those weren't real yet.

This was real though, and it was all wrong. He'd had a distant mental picture of the impending showdown, as if part of him had already decided how it was going to happen, how everything was supposed to end. The Order would be there to back him up, to ensure he'd make it to the final confrontation. It would be a battle, head to head, curses flying, kill or be killed; just as it had been before. It wasn't supposed to end this way.

_There's no way out._

Where was Dumbledore? Where was Remus? Where was this bloody Order that was supposed to be protecting him? Where was everyone now that he really needed them? Searching, using every resource at their disposal, and worrying out of their minds, he was sure, for all the good it would do. Trapped in an Unplottable fortress, and probably hidden by countless spells and shields, Harry's hopes that even Dumbledore would find him were growing dimmer by the hour. At first, in the back of his mind, he's believed that help was on its way, but now, he knew with aching certainty that he was on his own. Of course, he was used to being on his own. He'd learned over the years to rely on his own devices, whether or not his intuition was correct. In the end, the battle against VoldemortIt was supposed to be up to him anyway... But imprisoned, with no wand, no help...

_There's no way out._

There had almost been help. Somewhere along the line, subconsciously, he'd put his only real hope for escape in Malfoy.

At first the banter and his antagonizing of the other boy had been nothing but an angry backlash at the bastard who'd trapped him, but soon they began to take on a deadly serious purpose. Manipulation – not the most honorable of activities, but what choice did he have? He'd hoped there might be some way to needle under the skin of the obnoxious Slytherin. With that lever, maybe, just maybe, he might have been able to push Malfoy enough to drop him off his guard, possibly giving Harry a chance to escape. It was a survival move; any port in a storm.

It had seemed to be working, but somewhere along the way, something had changed. Under Malfoy's pale skin, it seemed, resided an actual human being. Not a particularly wonderful one, but alive, vulnerable, and very human. And that was where Harry had made his fatal mistake; he'd let Malfoy, in turn, get under his own skin. He'd actually trusted the boy, had begun to believe that Malfoy was actually starting to care about something, _anything_ , besides himself. He'd invested his trust, and his hope, in his strongest rival.

_I'm such an idiot._

Harry felt his throat tighten again at the painful memory; a pain that reached beyond the physical, pain that almost overwhelmed him once before and now threatened to do so again. Taking a couple of deep breaths, Harry tried to force some calm back into his shaking body. Even hours later, his emotions were still as raw as his nerves, caused by the shock of his only hope being pulled out from underneath him, and what seemed like a complete betrayal.

He shouldn't have been surprised, and it shouldn't have felt like a betrayal, but it did. The physical aftermath of the curse mingled with the realization that not only had he lost his little crusade to gain Malfoy's help, but that he never could have won in the first place. His own naivety and misplaced trust; he should have known better. It was his own fault, but that did nothing to ease the pain.

For years, Draco Malfoy had proven himself to be nothing more than a cowardly little snake, feeding on the tenets of his father's beliefs, clinging to the coattails of the powerful, doing whatever it took to save his own arse. He would never do anything that might violate his standard code of self-serving conduct. Even if, by the slimmest possibility, Malfoy hadn't lied when he'd told Harry he hadn't wanted to curse him; it didn't matter. Draco obviously didn't have what it took to stand up to his father. If that was the case, then he would never, _never_ be able to defy Voldemort, allowing Harry to escape.

No, Harry shouldn't be surprised; but that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell to realize the truth.

_There's no way out._

No, he couldn't rely on Malfoy; not now, not ever. He had nobody but himself, but there was nothing left for him to do. No choices, no options, no escape. The harsh chill seeping through his clothes from the dungeon floor was no match for the freezing sensation in his gut as he considered his inescapable fate.

_I'm really going to die this time._

Determined though he might have been not to go down without a fight, there didn't seem to be any way he _could_ fight. There was nothing he could do, no actions to be taken.

Harry took a slow breath, feeling his shaking chest pressed against his knees, and hugged them tighter to himself. The world was slipping out from underneath him. Some piece of him used to believe that there was a happy ending to every story, and perhaps a tiny part of him still wished it could believe in such nonsense, but the ember of faith had died. It was stone cold and buried deep under cynicism. There was no sense in having hope anymore. Hope had betrayed him so many times, and now, once more in the form of Draco Malfoy. He wouldn't let it happen again.

_There's no way out._

Draco pulled the heels of his hands away from his face where they'd spent another interval of time rubbing his eyes red. No tears; he didn't deserve tears, nor did he feel the need for them. So much emotion had already been taxed from him that there seemed to be none left to give. He couldn't even let himself think about what he'd done to Harry. It was over. The damage had been done. He'd have to deal with it eventually, but for now, it was too much.

Instead, he'd been pouring through every possible angle of the same problem, only to keep returning to the same worthless conclusion.

_There's no way out._

He could just picture it; trying to stroll out the front door. " _Yes, thank you for the lovely stay, Lord Voldemort, but the décor is lacking and my room has a draft. I think I'll be going back to Hogwarts now._ " Oh yes, that would go over so well.

There was no chance for subtle escape, not that he could see. First of all, Draco didn't know a thing about the structure of Voldemort's dungeons. Just finding his way out before being caught would be next to impossible. Second, even if he managed to make it beyond the fortress, Voldemort would track him as easily as a niffler would find the contents of Gringotts piled on the sidewalk. Sure, there were ways to avoid detection, but Draco just didn't have that sort of magic available to him, not here. Third, there was Harry. What about Harry? After years of nothing but self-serving interests, Draco found himself entertaining the purely altruistic notion of facilitating Harry's escape as well. Yet, if getting out of the dungeons himself would be next to impossible, getting Harry out as well... forget it.

If escape was impossible, what _could_ he do?

_Send a message. Call for help._

He struck down that thought as quickly as it came. _If_ he could get a message through, what would it say? " _I'm trapped with Harry Potter in an Unplottable fortress about forty or fifty miles north of Hogwarts. You can't find me even if you do know where I am, but please send help before we both die."_ Even if he managed to get the plot for the fortress and give it to Dumbledore, or anyone, Voldemort would know immediately that his security had been breached, and Draco would be dead before he ever saw his would-be rescuers. So, that plan was out.

_Sabotage._

Draco almost laughed aloud at himself for that piece of foolishness. Even if he could outsmart Voldemort and his flock of Death Eaters, which was quite likely the most insane thought he'd had yet, where would he start? And to what end?

It was pointless, just like everything else.

What about his father? Draco almost let his hopes get ahead of him when he thought of going to his father, but the natural conclusions of this train of thought were almost worse. Lucius would never allow Draco to simply walk away from this. If Lucius' services to Voldemort were absolute, and Draco was sure that they were, then he'd never willingly allow Draco to abandon this fate.

_If Voldemort ordered Father to do so, he would kill me without hesitation._

It wasn't an emotional realization for Draco; more an acknowledgement of something he'd always known but had never really considered. That was Lucius; a true Malfoy. Everything Draco had always wanted to be. All his life, Draco had wanted nothing more than to please Lucius, and that attitude was as deeply rooted into his being as his own name. His need for his father's approval and the loyalty he felt to the Malfoy name – the name he'd _earned –_ he couldn't easily walk away from that. Both were a part of him, part of his blood.

But, if he wanted to escape from Voldemort, he didn't have a choice. His father would never support his wish to leave, and so Draco would become little more than a liability to Lucius. As much as he hated to do it, as much as it killed him, if he wanted to leave, he would have to turn his back on his father.

_Or, I could just stay._

Draco frowned miserably at the thought, but it really was the most obvious option. And the safest. Maybe he was being too hasty about this whole notion of escape.

Sure, he had some minor reservations about serving Voldemort.

Well, significant reservations.

 _Keep dreaming, Draco._ These were reservations large enough to blow holes through the ramparts of Hogwarts. Still, was he a Malfoy or not? A Malfoy plays by the rules of self-preservation, and turning traitor to the Dark Lord was _not_ the best way to keep one's head about him. Or attached to him.

After years of being absolutely comfortable with his plans, with his chosen future as a Death Eater, why not just follow through? It was certainly the safest idea. He was still in both his father's, and Voldemort's, favour after all. All he needed to do was step back, mentally regroup, and hold his ground. He'd spent all his life learning how to please the people in power, how to gain favour with the right people. Yet it had been nothing but an extravagant façade; Draco Malfoy did not favour anyone but himself, and his allegiances had always been merely self-serving. Why not just continue with that? Why not just save himself the pain, anguish, and possible death and dismemberment, and simply acquiesce to the destiny that had been calling him for years?

_Because I'm scared._

The answer screamed at him, impossible to ignore. It was true. There was no way to deny it, not after everything that had happened. Too scared to stay, too afraid to leave. Terrified of being trapped with no real options. No safe way out, but no sanctuary in staying.

It was all too overwhelming for an exhausted teenage boy.

Draco quickly pressed his hands over his eyes again, desperately trying to force his mind to go blank. His father, Harry, Voldemort; the three conflicting thoughts spun around in his brain, with no solution in sight. It was so useless.

He ground his fists harder against his eyes, and the pressure from his hands created an artificial mosaic of colour behind his eyelids. He let himself focus on the swirling pattern, drinking it in as a sort of relief from the gloom of the dungeons, even if it was nothing more than the effect of pressure straining his optic nerve. He mused vaguely whether some of that colour might be a side-effect of excessive consumption of _Sleepless Nights_ potion, and then wondered if such over use of the potion could cause long-term damage. Of course, if he fell asleep on the job, the short-term damage would be much worse.

He pushed the remaining thoughts away and drifted with the rich patterns of fabricated colour. Reds and yellows gave way to blues, and Draco could let himself imagine, wistfully, that he was seeing a hint of the blue sky outdoors. Then, the image turned into a swirl of green, and before he could stop himself from thinking it, he swore he was looking into Harry's eyes.

The image gripped him, and he felt his breath catch, but he couldn't pull his hands away; didn't want to stop looking...

A sudden cracking noise almost caused Draco to fall out of his chair, heart racing, and he grabbed desperately at the arms of his chair in an attempt to steady himself.

"Biddy!" he yelled in surprise before he was able to calm himself properly. "Don't ever startle me like that again!"

Biddy hopped backwards and dropped into a fearful bow, almost spilling the tray of food she was carrying. She squeaked frightfully, "Master, sir! Yes, sir, Biddy is terribly sorry, Master Malfoy sir, but Biddy is only wanting to bring Master his dinner, sir!"

The house elf stared at him uncertainly with her large, watery eyes.

Blowing out a slow breath between pursed lips, Draco raised his eyes briefly to the ceiling and ran his fingers harshly through his hair. His hand stopped at the back of his head, grabbing at the limp blond locks and squeezing the fistful of hair tightly. Finally, after a moment of settling his ragged nerves, he said shortly, "Fine, it's fine. Just leave the tray."

Biddy nodded warily. "Yes, Master Malfoy, sir."

She set the tray carefully by his feet, but instead of leaving immediately, she turned to look at him. Venturing forward with a tiny step, she blinked once, then asked cautiously, "Master Malfoy... sir... is you all right, sir?"

Draco stared down at the elf, startled by her boldness.

_No, I am NOT alright! Everything is fucked beyond belief! I'm sympathizing with the enemy, I think about turning traitor to the Dark Lord, and I'm betraying everything my father every taught me! Does that sound all right to you?_

"I'm fine, Biddy. Thank you."

With a casual wave of his hand which belied the emotions which were straining to break through his shell, he dismissed her. He couldn't let her know that he was actually grateful for the sympathy. A master should never lower himself to admitting he needs his servant for anything more than menial labour. It was improper.

Biddy pressed her lips tightly together, eyes full of concern. She didn't believe him for a moment, and he knew it. Finally, she looked down, reassuming her proper house elf behavior. "Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir."

With that, she disappeared again.

Draco looked at the tray and his shoulders fell. Nice little sandwiches, pumpkin juice, tea, apples, two cups, and two plates. It looked more like a spread for a picnic in the park than rations for a prison guard and his captive. The very sight of the food made Draco's stomach want to turn, but he still had to feed Harry. It would be the first interaction they'd had in hours – since Draco had used the Cruciatus Curse. The memory itself made him feel dirty.

Silently, he piled two sandwiches and an apple onto a plate, then poured a cup of tea. Biddy had indeed included a small bowl of sugar cubes on the tray, and Draco quickly added two lumps. He moved to stand, but then, thinking the better of it, added one more sandwich to the plate, braced himself, and approached the cell.

Harry was curled up against the far wall, leaning against it sideways, giving Draco a profile view of his face. His eyes were closed, as though sleeping, but the lines of his body were tense.

"Potter? You awake in there? Lunch is..."

"Fuck off, Malfoy."

 _I should have expected that,_ Draco reasoned to himself, but that didn't make it any easier. He had to say something, but what? Potter was obviously not going to listen to any sort of apology, but perhaps he would at least listen to some common sense. Draco took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

"Listen, Potter. Fighting with me isn't going to do either of us any good. I'm sure you're convinced I'm an evil, hedonistic bastard, and who knows? You might be right. But sod it, Potter! Don't make this harder than it already is!"

Draco cut himself off before emotion could begin to choke him.

"Hard? Like using the Cruciatus on an unarmed victim? Oh, I'm sure this is _really_ hard on you, Malfoy."

Draco swallowed. "Potter..."

"Turns out your first victim was me. What a pleasant surprise for you. My fault of course, bear that in mind. Did you enjoy that, Malfoy?"

Harry was still not looking at Draco, and so he never saw the pained expression on Draco's face; the way his mouth tightened up, or the way his eyes squeezed shut as though to block out the sting of that remark.

Draco sucked in a choked breath, and his response sounded thin and strained. "No, Potter. Not that you'd ever believe me, or that it even matters, but no."

Harry's eyes finally opened, but he didn't turn his head; instead, he stared straight at the wall in front of him. His profile didn't give Draco any clues about the emotions Harry might be hiding, and his voice was just as ambiguous as he flatly replied, "Bullshit."

Frustration was beginning to push at Draco again. There was just no talking to this boy. "Fine, Potter. Have it your way, but as I said, lunch is here. Sandwiches."

No response.

Draco shook his head to himself. "For Merlin's sake, Potter, they're not poisoned."

Finally, Harry moved, turning his back against the wall and facing Draco. Draco automatically flinched, expecting Harry's stare to rip him apart as usual, but it didn't happen.

Harry's back was rigid against the wall, as before, but this time, his shoulders slumped dejectedly. His face was still hard and neutral, with the disillusioned look of someone who had seen too much, but his eyes were different. Behind his glasses, Harry's eyes looked back at Draco dully, not really seeing him, as though he'd retreated into himself.

Through the fabric of Harry's shirt, Draco could see a muscle twitching violently, causing his arm and hand to spasm, a physical aftereffect of the Cruciatus Curse. Judging by the look in Harry's eyes, the Curse had struck him deeper as well. The spasm stopped, and Harry appeared to ignore it, but Draco couldn't brush the thought aside as easily. Yet another reminder that he had caused Harry's miserable physical and emotional condition.

"Why don't you?" Harry asked, snapping Draco from his thoughts.

"Why don't I what?"

"Poison them. It would be a lot quicker. And I'm sure a lot less painful."

This was not a line of conversation Draco had any interest at all in promoting. "Potter..."

"But then, I doubt you'd do that, because then you won't get to torture me, and show off for Daddy and Voldemort while we're waiting for... oh yeah, almost forgot. That, plus you have to keep me alive for you **_master_**."

Draco gritted his teeth. This was beginning to cross from frustrating to purely maddening. "Now you listen..."

"No," Harry said suddenly, cutting Draco off. This time he seemed to be talking to himself more than to Draco. If anything, he looked thoughtful. "No... You know... They say that without food or water, a person will die in about three days. Is that right, Malfoy?"

Draco felt a shock rip through him. Of all the things Potter might have said, that was not the thing Draco had expected; certainly not what Draco wanted to hear. Not now. Especially not now. "Potter, no..."

"What Malfoy? Would that ruin your plans?" There was a definite hint of amusement in Harry's voice, and a tiny spark of determination was beginning to gleam behind Harry's glasses again. It was cold and detached, but it was alive. As much as Draco had hated seeing the deadened look in Harry's eyes, this was worse.

"But you don't want to die!" Draco blurted out, more to convince himself than Harry. "You said so..."

His voice trailed off; he couldn't think of anything else to say, and instead stared numbly into the cell. Harry's shoulders were still slumped, and while he still didn't look happy, he no longer looked defeated either. He stared back at Draco thoughtfully, as though considering the fate of the world, then sighed resignedly.

"Of course I don't want to die. But... that's going to happen anyway."

Draco found his voice choked. "No..."

"I'm not going to let him win, Malfoy," Harry suddenly said in a rush. The expression on his face shifted, just slightly, and tightly guarded hints of frantic worry made creases around his eyes and mouth. "If I'm going to die, it's going to be on my terms. I'd even rather..."

"Let me kill you," Draco said, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. Harry looked up at him in surprise, and Draco nodded once. "Yes Potter, I remember. I remember too well."

Harry's mouth hung open just slightly; plainly surprised by Draco's apparent understanding of the situation, but also perhaps by the way he was reacting to it. He watched wordlessly as Draco bent down and placed the plate on the floor, then reached into his robes for his wand. In his other hand, he held the teacup out in front of him. With a muttered charm and a flick of the wrist, the teacup rose into the air. Directed by Draco's wand, the cup floated serenely through the bars, leaving a trail of steam in its wake. As it approached Harry, it sank to the ground and landed gently by his foot.

Harry stared at the cup, then back at Draco. The thick shield he'd created around himself seemed to fall away. His eyes widened, dropping their guarded edge, finally seeing Draco. Where there had sat a cold, cynical man only moments before, Draco was finally able to recognize Harry again.

"A bit better than your hover charm during O.W.L.'s," Harry said cautiously.

Draco shrugged. "I was distracted."

Harry replied with a tight-lipped nod, then flicked his eyes back to the cup.

"Sugar?"

Draco risked a small, tentative smile. "Two lumps."

For a moment, it seemed that Harry might have forgiven him; that he might have actually broken through, but the moment passed. Harry's eyes darkened over again, and his features became hard and impassive. With a sudden kick, he sent the teacup clattering across the floor, leaving a steaming puddle and the cracked remains of the fine porcelain.

Harry looked up through the rapidly diminishing cloud of steam at Draco. "Next time, make sure it's poisoned, not sugared."

Draco felt his stomach drop down to his knees. Potter was serious. He really was going to try to starve himself to death, a last resort effort from a man who had decided there were no other options. There were worse ways to die than starvation and dehydration, but very few that Draco could call to mind just then.

Choosing that path, suicide, might seem like surrender to some people, but Draco knew better. Harry Potter did not surrender. By not letting Voldemort kill him, Potter was making the choice of self-sacrifice. He would die defying the Dark Lord, and Voldemort would never win.

_Noble to the last._ _Bloody Gryffindor._

Not even bothering to retrieve the plate, Draco turned away from the cell and walked away. He couldn't look anymore. As if everything hadn't already been distressing enough… Draco wasn't prepared to watch anyone, not even Harry, – no, especially not Harry – starve to death in front of him.

 _If this suicide attempt succeeds,_ Draco thought miserably, _at least I won't have to watch Voldemort's ritualized murder of the poor kid._ That thought did absolutely nothing to ease the nauseous hollowness that was growing inside him. He felt so completely helpless. Weak and helpless.

He slumped into his chair, and stared straight forward; not really seeing anything, not really wanting to see. Shutting his eyes would make no difference, and thinking wouldn't help him, because his mind would inevitably return to the same thing. Harry, lying on the floor of the cell, dying slowly.

Maybe it was better that way. If Voldemort did manage to add Harry's power to his own, he'd be almost unstoppable. Draco could see why Harry wouldn't want his last knowledge to be that he facilitated Voldemort's eventual victory. That would almost be worse for him than actually dying. For Harry's sake, for everyone's really, Draco found himself hoping that if they didn't manage to escape, that Harry would at least succeed in his grotesque mission. It wouldn't be the best option, but it wouldn't be the worst either. Perhaps it _was_ better to commit suicide than die at Voldemort's hand.

_Maybe there is a way out of this._

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, a wave of sadness hit him. Had things really fallen so low that suicide seemed like a favourable alternative? He wouldn't do it though, and he knew it.

_Well, why the hell not? There's not a whole lot of good I'm doing sitting here._

Slowly, Draco raised one hand to the base of his throat, and gently ran one finger across the wound Voldemort had left there, down the remnants of dried blood that stuck to the skin above his collar. Dying at Voldemort's hand was definitely the worst case scenario. He thought of his own ritual dagger, the one he'd used to stab Harry. One quick cut and it would all be over, so why not?

_Because I'm a bloody coward._

A week ago, the very idea of admitting something so terribly derogatory about himself would never have crossed his mind. He would have spent hours, if necessary, inventing excuses for his behavior, just as he had done for years. Now, there just seemed to be no point. He was too tired to argue, even with himself.

He needed to _do_ something. Anything. He needed to take some action, because right now, inaction was pushing him over the edge. Kicking at the floor once in frustration, he slouched lower into his seat, as if he could shrink away from everything.

 _Don't slouch, Draco. It's unbefitting of a Malfoy._ His father's old chastisements rang in his head.

_Shut up father._

Draco's hand slipped to his belt and found the handle of his dagger. He pulled it from its sheath and held it out in front of him, watching the reflection of the firelight from the torches bouncing off the parts of the blade which were clean; fire on metal. The rest of the surface was obscured by a film of dried blood. He still hadn't cleaned the dagger.

Holding the point of the dagger lightly between his left forefinger and thumb, Draco slowly rotated the blade, not to draw blood, just to watch the light dance off the metal as it spun. It was beautiful, and bright; hypnotic to watch. There was no sound, no touch, just the reflections of the blade. As it spun, Draco not only saw the torches, but the walls of the dungeons, the heavy wooden doors, the bars of the cell, and even once, he caught Harry's face in the reflection. Harry was watching him, but Draco wouldn't look across to him. His entire awareness was wrapped up in that reflection.

As he watched, he sank even deeper into his chair, relishing the little escape he found in the reflection of the dagger, contemplating the more permanent escape that the dagger could bring.

"I've told you countless times, Draco. Don't slouch."

Draco was about to tell the voice in his head to shut up again when the reflection in the blade revealed his father's face. With the sudden shock of having his solitude so rudely interrupted, especially given the identity of the intruder, Draco jumped from his chair with a startled yell. The dagger slipped, cutting into his fingers and falling to the floor.

"Father! I'm sorry, I didn't see you enter. I..."

Lucius scowled, silencing him immediately. "Draco, considering where you are, I would imagine that you would be a little more alert, not caught in some daydream. Imagine if the Dark Lord himself had entered the dungeons to find you in such a state."

Draco almost let himself slip and say that he'd know if Voldemort were approaching, because Harry's scar would start to burn, but he caught his tongue before the words escaped it. Bowing his head with the expected amount of shame, he quickly apologized. "I'm sorry, father. It won't happen again."

"I should hope not." Lucius's eyes were hard as he surveyed his son. He reached down and picked up Draco's dagger. "And you should not be so careless with this. I gave it to you as a tool, not as a toy, and I will not have you treating magical artifacts with such negligence."

Draco automatically began to reach for the dagger, but Lucius pulled it further from his reach. Draco tipped his head sullenly. "Yes, father."

Lucius nodded once, but didn't seem altogether satisfied with the response. He looked down behind him, where Biddy was cowering, apparently having arrived with him. "Well? What are you waiting for?" he hissed at the house elf. "I told you to retrieve the tray and leave."

Biddy rushed forward to collect the tray and plates, visibly cowering in Lucius's presence.

"Draco, I gave you a house elf, and you can't even handle that properly. Between the dagger and the house elf, I'm beginning to question you _readiness_ for the honour you're preparing to receive." He gestured towards Biddy, who was clambering frantically to retrieve the dishes, levitating the shards of Harry's teacup out of the cell, stacking everything onto the tray as she shook miserably. "This elf seems to have developed a mind-set of its own in the few days since I gave it to you. Ruddy beast spoke out of turn twice to your mother today, and once to me. I taught you how to manage servants, did I not?"

"Yes, father," Draco answered, but his eyes were on Biddy. She had a nasty welt across her face where Lucius had likely struck her, and her hands shook as she gathered the dishes, which were still all full.

Lucius glanced at his son appraisingly. "Have you been eating properly, Draco?"

Draco almost gave the automatic 'yes, father,' reply, but realized Lucius had already seen the full dishes Biddy was collecting. He shrugged lightly. "I've not been terribly hungry, father."

"Ah. Still _disturbed_ by your encounter with the Dark Lord?" The disapproval dripped from every word. He didn't let Draco answer, as he continued, "You shall need a thicker skin than that if you wish to succeed at the tasks ahead of you. And you'll need to eat to keep up your strength."

Draco was about to ask what tasks his father was talking about when he was interrupted by the sound of shattering porcelain. Biddy had been shaking so badly that as she'd lifted the tray, the teapot had slipped off the edge, leaving Biddy standing in a puddle of tea and porcelain shards.

"Biddy! Be more careful with..." Draco began, before Lucius cut him off.

"You miserable disgrace for a house elf! I let you beyond the estate, and you serve my son pitifully. You are not fit to be a Malfoy's servant!" With that, Lucius lashed out with his cane, striking the house elf across her back, knocking her down, and sending the entire tray crashing to the floor.

Draco watched the whole event numbly, and cast a quick glance over to Harry's cell. He'd been sure Harry would be growling and glowering at Lucius, but Harry wasn't even watching. When he looked back at Biddy, the house elf was pulling herself to her feet. Lucius was glaring at her disdainfully.

"Go back to the Manor, house elf, and punish yourself properly. I want you out of my sight."

With a frightened squeak and a loud crack, Biddy was gone. A quick wave of Lucius's wand and the mess of broken flatware and food on the floor disappeared as well. He then rounded on Draco.

"Draco, if you intend to keep the house elf, then you had better handle it the way I taught you."

Draco quickly gave a short bow of his head. "Yes, father. I'll be sure to."

"Good." Lucius tipped his head in approval. "Now, I have some news for you."

Draco looked up quickly to find that the twisted smile had returned to his father's face. "News, father?"

Instead of responding immediately, Lucius reached inside his robe and pulled out an apparently ancient book. It was bound in faded dragonhide, with uneven parchment, and an embossed symbol on the cover resembling the three phases of the moon. Above the symbol were inscribed the words, _"Lunar Magicke."_

Draco glanced from the book back to his father. "This is from the hidden portion of our library. I recognize it."

Lucius nodded once in approval. "Excellent observation, Draco. This is once of the oldest books in the Malfoy collection. It is also one of the few books in the hidden collection that does not contain purely Dark Magic."

Draco pursed his lips. "I've not read this before. If this is part of the hidden portion of the collection, what does it contain, if not Dark Arts?"

Lucius's smile turned conspiratorial, and he held out the book to Draco, who accepted the book tentatively as his father explained.

"The spells and potions in this book are from the Old Arts."

Draco's eyebrows furrowed together questioningly. "So then, this is a type of folk magic?"

Lucius slammed the butt of his cane into the floor angrily. "Have I taught you nothing, Draco, or do you have the mental capacity of a Squib?"

Draco flinched at the insult, but said nothing as he stared at the book in his hands.

"You insult the integrity of our magical heritage by comparing the Old Arts to Muggle folk magic. They are _not_ the same thing. You should know this, Draco."

Draco fought the urge to argue, and conceded with a nod, waiting for his father to continue.

Lucius reached out and tapped the cover of the book. "The Old Arts are a far cry from modern magic, but no less powerful, and certainly not folk magic. I wouldn't dare have you make that sort of mistake in front of the Dark Lord. That garbage is what the Muggles tried to learn from the real wizards and witches before the Wizarding world went into hiding. Folk magic always had missing elements, and was mixed up with the Muggles' inane need for a deity to worship. The Old Arts were the true works of ancient wizards."

Draco knew most of this, at least in a vague sense, and wasn't in any sort of mood for a lecture. His father had taught him some about the Old Arts, but because it seemed to be mixed up in Muggle affairs, Draco had never much cared about it. Apparently though, there was more to it than met the eye. Draco felt an urge to ask his father why he'd never really emphasized the Old Arts, but he kept his mouth shut. He'd already irritated his father twice, and he wanted to know what had brought Lucius to the dungeons bearing what seemed to be good news.

Lucius paused to make certain that Draco was paying proper attention before he continued. "In the Old Arts, there was a large grey area between 'common' magic and Dark magic, and there was no Ministry to regulate their use. Eventually, so-called _improvements_ were made to common magic, but the types of workings that were deemed 'Dark magic' were forced underground, and often no modern substitutes were discovered for those spells. The Dark Lord's plan for Potter," he jerked his head towards the cell, "uses just such a spell."

If he'd been in the least inclined towards thinking about it, Draco was sure he could have come to that conclusion on his own. So why was his father droning on about this now? "Father could you…" Draco searched for a diplomatic way of saying this, "explain the relevance of this to me?"

At this, Lucius's harsh scowl softened at the edges, creating a prideful excuse for a smile. "Draco, the Dark Lord is aware of your skills in the Art of Potions. Quite beyond your years, when you can be bothered to invest the effort. Although there are others who are perhaps more qualified for this task, he has considered giving this honour to you."

Draco shook his head once in confusion and blinked stupidly. "What honour?"

"Why, to assist in creating the potion for Potter's demise, of course."

Draco's heart seemed to miss a beat, squeezed suddenly by a ribcage that seemed too small. He became distinctly aware of the sound of his blood rushing in his ears.

"You caught the little bastard and you are aware, of course, that you will be initiated as a Death Eater immediately after Potter's death. This would be your final task, a trial before your initiation."

 _Oh God, no,_ Draco thought weakly. _Please, no._ Carefully setting his face with its time-worn neutral mask, Draco forced a slow nod. "What am I to do, father?"

"The Dark Lord is sure to give you final instructions at the time, but for now, learn all the details of brewing this potion." Lucius flicked the book open to a fairly central page, "Theory, ritual, and preparation. As one of the Old Arts, it will be very different from the potions you're accustomed to brewing. There are certain elements in the preparation that you've not encountered before, but I'm sure you can adapt. As I said, there are Death Eaters who are more qualified for this task, but the Dark Lord has considered favouring you with this honour. Do not waste this opportunity."

Lucius looked down on his son with a certain reserved pride, and rested his right hand on Draco's left shoulder. "You've lived up to your name, Draco. Be ready for this, now. Do not fail."

Lucius's hand felt unbearably heavy on Draco's shoulder. It was all Draco could do to tip his head forward and reply with the expected, "Yes, father."

Lucius finally dropped his hand. "Very well. Good luck, Draco. I've marked the page with the instructions for the potion. Oh, and mind that you do not find yourself daydreaming down here again, lest the Dark Lord might also find you inattentive. I'm certain he wouldn't be pleased with that sort discovery."

"Yes, father."

Lucius nodded, then held out his other hand. In it was Draco's dagger, handle presented first. Draco took it, and cautiously glanced up at his father's face. The hard features, so similar to his own, yet completely different, had already lost their shallow display of parental sentiment.

"And don't slouch."

With those last words, Lucius was gone. Draco stood still, listening to the sound of retreating footsteps as they faded away down the corridor, ending in the sharp echo of the slamming dungeon door. When the sound had faded, Draco stood staring blankly down the corridor for a moment, trying to tell himself it had all been a very bad hallucination brought on by exhaustion.

This was beyond comprehension. The Dark Lord would never have a new initiate assist in performing such an important ceremony. Impossible!

Draco felt his mouth go completely dry. _That is, unless this is a test._

Draco looked down again at the book he held. A red stain was spreading under his left thumb, and it was only then that he even remembered that he'd cut himself. He quickly dropped the book on to his chair and dug into his pocket for a clean handkerchief. As he began to wipe away the blood that had smeared across his hand from the cut, he stopped and pulled the cloth away again.

Draco held his left hand up in front of his face, watching the smear of blood beginning to dry around the edges as a tiny trickle continued to ooze down his thumb and across his palm. There was nothing beautiful about blood, he decided. Nothing noble or valiant in the spilling of blood. He'd always been so proud of his own blood; pure, noble Malfoy blood. He's been convinced for years that it was different from all the "lesser" blood, but it too was the same disgusting shade of Gryffindor red as everyone else's. Same as Harry's.

Risking a quick glance into the cell, Draco saw Potter staring at him intently, searching Draco with a dark curiosity.

"Looking at something, Potter?"

"No."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Funny, you're 'not looking' pretty attentively."

Harry bypassed the verbal tap dance and went for the direct jab. "I suppose you just can't wait for this, Malfoy. You have to make it personal, right to the end."

Draco gritted his teeth and inhaled through them, listening to the slow hissing sound. Right now, he had no desire to get into another aimless argument, so he looked away from Harry and began wrapping the cloth around his finger again.

"Looks like you get to do me in, after all," Harry goaded. "That is, if I'm still alive for your amusement by then. That won't look very good for you, will it? How will you explain to Voldemort when it's time for the grand finale that I'm already dead?"

His stress running high, and his patience running low, Draco opted for the simplest approach. With his old trademark sneer staunchly in place, he drawled, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

And with that, he turned away.

He could argue with Potter all afternoon, but it wasn't going to help him one bit. The boy wasn't going to listen anyway. Pushing Harry to the back of his mind, he looked over at the book that his father had left for him, still sitting on the chair where he'd tossed it, with the red stain showing boldly on the cover. He shook his head to himself, quickly flinging a cleaning spell on the book, then a healing spell at his own fingertip, and finally flopped down into the chair with the book on his lap.

Not that he wanted to learn this old piece of magic, and he certainly didn't want to use this potion on Harry, but for now, there didn't seem to be anything else to do. His father was certain to come and test his knowledge soon enough, and the last thing he needed was to bring more problems raining down on his head.

Besides, he'd spent hours wishing for some distraction, something to do, and anything was better than sitting and spinning circles in his head. He also had to admit, he was just a bit curious about the whole thing. His father had always said that knowledge was power. Learning more about Voldemort's plans seemed to be a promising start. Not that there were many other options, or any other options really. With a sigh, he flipped open the cover of the book.

The parchment was crumbling and dusty; the ink faded in places. One corner had obviously had a potion of some sort spilled on it ages ago, but all the text was still legible. Quickly locating the marker his father left, Draco surveyed the page in question. In the margins were archaic symbols, some very obscure, others obviously depicting the moon in various phases of concealment.

As he began to skim through, Draco at first wondered why the book wasn't written in Middle English, but then realized his father must have already used a translator charm on it. He snickered. His mother could real Middle and Old English, but his father had never bothered to learn. He'd always been too busy with more practical things, such as amassing political influence and serving the Dark Lord.

Shivering deeply before scrunching back into his quilt, Draco set himself to the business of learning everything there was to know about the _"Soul's Eclipse"_ potion.

The potion itself was simple enough, Draco found, which seemed consistent with what little he knew of the Old Arts. The spell and potion had been designed in an era when dueling was not just for sport, and rival wizards often took their conflicts to the battlefield with small armies in tow. The idea was that if a wizard could capture his enemy alive, the ultimate embarrassment for a combatant, the captor would be able to absorb his enemy's power as his own. Total and complete conquest. It was just the sort of thing Voldemort would deem a fitting end for the boy who had slipped through his fingers time after time. It would be an effective and symbolic proof of his complete victory over Harry, undeniably making Voldermort the most powerful wizard in the word.

The ingredients for the potion were, like most potions ingredients from that time, basic herbal derivatives. Most, if not all of them, could be found growing locally, Draco noted. Calamus root, mugwort, hawthorn thorns, Sorcerer's Violet (called periwinkle in modern texts), mistletoe, quince seeds, and twigs from a yew tree.

The calamus root and mugwort tied the defeated wizard's power to the actual phasing of the moon, and the eclipse itself was nothing more than a catalyst for the transition of power from the conquered to the conqueror. Periwinkle and hawthorn allowed the victim's spirit to be pulled from his body. Yew, regardless of myths about reincarnation, was more importantly a powerful herb that prevented the spirit of the dead from passing to the netherworld.

 _Funny_ , Draco mused, _how Muggles like to plant yew in graveyards, despite their nearly obsessive fear of ghosts_.

The quince seed bonded the conquered and the conqueror to each other, opening a unidirectional channel for power to pass directly from one to the other. Finally, mistletoe served to increase the potency of the brew. Draco couldn't help but admire the elegant technique, absently feeling a mild pang of regret that some of the more poetic elements of the Old Arts had been lost in the development of modern magic. They were art really, these spells, and they appealed to the aesthete in Draco.

From what little Draco knew of the Old Arts, even the use of an astronomical event was very typical. Lunar and solar-based rituals had been some of the earliest magical practices. Most spells and potions from that time period had some element of lunar or solar magic; potions brewed at certain phases of the moon, charms performed at sunrise, rituals at solstices and hexes at midnight. To that point, the potion seemed so simple, so predictable.

However, the simplicity ended there. As he should have expected with the Old Arts, there was also an... emotional element. Where the potion itself merely opened the floodgate of power between the two wizards, and the eclipse forced a transitional state, it was the emotional component which was the key to the whole spell. Raw, unadulterated hatred. It functioned like a vacuum, an emptiness that pulled all things towards itself, siphoning the power of the defeated wizard directly to the victor. A wizard would only be able to effectively use this potion on the most hated of enemies, perfect for Voldemort to use on Harry.

Suited as the spell might be, however, it also seemed more and more like some sort of sick joke. Here was someone Draco had always presumed to be unquestionably, absolutely powerful, needing to tap power from a teenage boy to complete his subjugation of the wizard world. It sickened Draco to think of Voldemort siphoning off Harry's power as Harry slowly wasted away. It felt so wrong.

Draco closed his eyes, wanting to block out the thought, but it only became more vivid as he tried to hide the images and ideas away. In his mind's eye, Draco could see Harry, bound and gagged, as he'd been when Voldemort had tortured him, but now he was barely fighting back. His struggle became weaker, and his eyes began to cloud over. Finally, without fuss or fanfare, he seemed to wither in his bonds, sagging against the ropes as perpetual rise and fall of his chest finally stopped.

And then, Draco heard it. High, cruel laughter. Voldemort. The harsh sound caused the air to crackle darkly, as though Harry's power hadn't simply added to Voldemort's, but had multiplied it. The Dark Lord was nowhere to be seen, but Draco could feel his icy presence all around. It was a cold, hard hatred, power that took everything and gave nothing in return. Voldemort had been terrible before, but after killing Harry, it seemed he'd be unstoppable. Hogwarts would fall, Britain would crumble, and it wouldn't stop there. It would never stop.

A loud bang snapped Draco back to reality. He glanced around quickly, half expecting to see his father standing over him again, glowering furiously, but the only other person to be seen was Harry, and he was apparently fast asleep. Looking down, Draco found the source of the noise; the book had fallen to the floor while he hadn't been paying attention. After he'd been caught daydreaming once that day, and had been warned not to do it again, he'd already let himself slip. Not a good record. To his credit, at least he wasn't slouching this time.

Draco leaned over and reached down to grab the book, only to realize his hands were shaking too badly to grip it. In fact, everything was shaking, and his breathing was ragged and shallow, as though he was still absorbed in his waking nightmare. This just wouldn't do. Getting carried away right now wouldn't help him, especially as it seemed like nothing could.

He forced himself to drag the book into his lap and sat still until the shaking subsided. There was still a lot to learn about this spell, and while the eclipse wasn't going to happen for another couple of weeks, Voldemort or his father could decide to test his knowledge at any random time. And as much as he'd rather not think about this anymore, he'd be best off if he knew the material.

The bookmark had fallen out, Draco noted irritably. He grumbled as he flipped through the pages. _"Foreword, Basic Principles of Lunar Magic, Counter-curse Techniques, Lunar Herbs, Calculating Cycles of the Moon, Lunar Astrology, Hexes..."_

_CRACK!_

For the second time in less than five minutes, Draco was thoroughly startled by a loud noise. This time, however, he hadn't caused it.

"Biddy!" Draco cried in surprise, dropping the book again. "I told you, don't startle me like that!"

Biddy immediately took several short steps backwards, her tea tray tipping precariously as she moved. "Master Malfoy sir!" She squeaked pitifully. "Biddy is most terribly sorry, Master Malfoy, sir! Biddy will never do it again, Master Malfoy. Please, Master Malfoy, sir, do not be punishing Biddy! Biddy is only wanting to bring Master his tea, sir."

She bowed so low that her nose almost touched the ground. The tea tray shook in her hands, causing porcelain to clink and a couple of sugar cubes to fall to the floor. Draco blinked in surprise at her complete reversion to the pathetic cowering of the average Malfoy's house elf when he noticed the welt across her face that he'd seen earlier, and saw that there were now several others on her arms and legs to match, also obviously from his father's cane. Lucius had apparently taken it on himself to ensure that Draco's personal house elf was behaving properly. Now, however, it wasn't what Draco wanted. His shoulders drooped, and he waved his hand at the house elf, indicating for her to put the tray down.

"I'm not going to punish you, Biddy. I don't have time, and it looks like you've already been punished enough today."

Biddy was halfway through settling the tray on the floor when Draco's words hit her. Some tea spilled out of the teapot as the tray slipped the rest of the way from her fingers and set hard onto the floor. Her lower lip quivered as though she were trying to respond, but didn't know what to say, and her eyes watered as though she'd just been given the greatest kindness in the world. "Master Malfoy, sir?"

Draco sighed and forced a melancholy sort of smile. "I said it's ok Biddy. You're mine, not my father's, and I don't see fit to punish you for a simple mistake."

Immediately, Biddy's eyes overflowed, and she cried out loudly, "Oh, Master Malfoy, sir! Biddy does not deserve a master as generous as you! If Master Malfoy ever, _ever_ needs anything of Biddy, sir, just ask, Master Malfoy, sir!"

Words gave way to the sound of a nose being blown, loudly, on the edge of her filthy pillowcase. Draco flinched at the sight – how terribly unhygienic – but quickly put the disgusting nature of her habits secondary to their more immediate hazard.

"Biddy! Shhh! Do you want to bring my father running down here? Shut up!"

The house elf's racket was more than enough to bring everyone in the castle running down to the dungeons, particularly Lucius, if the man was still in the building. As much as Biddy wouldn't want a visit from Lucius, Draco was just as unenthusiastic. The last thing he needed at the moment was another lecture on his un-Malfoy-like handling of his house elf.

Biddy immediately bit down on her lower lip and nodded her head vigorously. Draco looked around nervously, as though expecting his father, or worse, Voldemort, to appear instantaneously to investigate the racket; but nobody appeared. There was only Draco, a house elf, and Harry, who was, incredibly, still asleep. Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's better, Biddy. Now, thanks for the tea. Come back for the tray in a little while. I've got a lot of work to do."

Biddy nodded again, whispering, "Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir! If Master is needing anything else of Biddy, let Biddy know, sir!"

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, Biddy. Thanks. Just go now..." And then Draco froze, staring at Biddy as though he had only just seen her standing there for the first time. "Wait."

Biddy looked at him questioningly. "Yes, Master Malfoy, sir?"

Draco surveyed the house elf as he spoke deliberately, "Biddy, you just said that if I needed _anything_ , to ask, correct?"

Biddy nodded slowly. "Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir."

Starting to feel a strange buzz of excitement in the back of his mind, Draco forced himself to keep his voice slow and steady. "And my father gave you to me, so your loyalty is to me before anyone else, correct?"

"Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir." Biddy gazed back at Draco uncertainly.

Draco felt himself nearly ready to explode with the realization of this whole new realm of possibilities. He'd have to trust a house elf, but it seemed to be the best chance he had, to say nothing of the fact that it seemed to be the only chance he had. Draco leaned over and motioned for Biddy to come close. She looked from side to side, as though expecting someone to appear out of thin air to strike at her, but quickly obeyed.

Bending low over his knees, Draco whispered conspiratorially. "Biddy, everything I'm about to ask you can _not_ be repeated to my father, or anyone, for any reason. Do you understand me?"

Eyes wide, Biddy nodded enthusiastically.

"Good. Listen carefully. I'm going to need you to search for two items for me back at the Manor. They're probably somewhere in my father's private possessions, so you must search cautiously. The first piece is a pendant that looks like an ancient Muggle compass. You do know what that looks like, don't you?"

Again, Biddy nodded, wordlessly.

"Right, then. Second is a set of two pyramid-shaped crystals. They're about as big as my fist." He held up his fist to demonstrate, and didn't miss Biddy's automatic reaction to duck. He sighed and shook his head. "Oh, and this is very important. Don't bring the crystals inside the fortress here. Voldemort will detect them as a breach in his wards."

Biddy hesitated, then asked in a quiet squeak, "Master Malfoy, sir, where is Biddy to bring them?"

"That's the other thing I need you to do. Before you even start looking for that stuff, I need you to search through the dungeons right here for a way out of the fortress. An old tunnel, a secret passage, any possible way for someone to escape beyond the wards unseen. Without an escape route, everything else is worthless. Then, when you find the compass, bring it to me here. When you find the crystals, put one of them outside the wards of the fortress, near the escape exit. The other crystal... I need you to bring it to Hogwarts. Give it to Dumbledore, if you can. Tell him... tell him just to hold on to it, that it's from me, and that hopefully, Harry Potter and I will be returning to school very soon. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Master Malfoy, sir." Biddy's response was a high, tight squeak. She was beginning to tremble again.

Draco pursed his lips. He couldn't have Biddy becoming scared and exposing him. "Listen to me, Biddy. If you can't do this, or you think you might have to tell my father about this, you let me know now. I'll tell you not to do any of it. I'll give you clothes if I have to, but I can't let you expose any of this.

The house elf stared at him, eyes as wide as they'd ever been, obviously not sure what to say. It isn't often that a house elf is given any sort of option, especially a Malfoy's house elf.

Draco gritted his teeth. He hated to admit this to a house elf, especially out loud, but it seemed the only way. "Biddy, you said if I needed anything, to just ask. I've never needed anything this much in my life. I can't do it without you. Can you do this for me?"

In a split second, Biddy's expression changed from trepidation to determination, and she whispered back firmly, "Master Malfoy, sir, Biddy is keeping her promise to gracious Master. If Master Malfoy is needing anything from Biddy, Biddy is wanting to do exactly what Master needs. Biddy will find the way out of the dungeons, and the things Master Malfoy asked for. Biddy is keeping Master Malfoy's secrets."

Draco finally allowed himself the first real smile he'd felt in many long hours. "Thank you, Biddy. Now go, and hurry. There's no time to waste."

Looking more confident than Draco had ever seen a house elf, Biddy nodded once, took a step back from him, and disappeared with a sharp crack.

Draco stared at the place where she had just been, mind reeling from the sudden turn in events.

It wasn't the world's greatest plan, not by any measure. He was putting his entire fate in the hands of a house elf. Strangely, he felt he could trust her. Not just because she was his servant and he'd given an order, but somehow, he felt she actually wanted to help him. She was just a house elf, a pitiful house elf, but maybe she could do it. Maybe… just maybe.

_There's a way out._

Light-headed and a bit giddy with the sudden rush of hope, Draco leaned back in his chair comfortably. He didn't even try to hide the broad grin spreading across his face; thoroughly enjoying the complete shift in his emotions, when suddenly he sat bolt upright again, eyes wide. His head snapped around towards the cell. Harry was still curled up as he had been, fast asleep, and had been oblivious to the entire exchange between Draco and Biddy.

_Potter! I have to tell Potter!_

Draco practically jumped out of his chair, but only took two rapid strides towards the cell before skidding to a halt. He stood there, mouth open, ready to pour out every bit of his plan, but the words died in his throat.

His father had always taught him that giving away your plans was always a risky move. Tell a single other person, and it's no longer a secret. You forfeit your control over everything once you do that. Every so often, perhaps, Lucius was right.

Harry was, to put it mildly, in a volatile state. Unpredictable, contrary, argumentative. Who knew how he might react? He may not believe a word of it, or his anger at Draco might simply warp his perception of it. Either way, he was a man who already thought he had nothing to lose, so what would stop Harry from slipping and giving away some hint of plan to Lucius, or even Voldemort? By telling Harry, Draco would not only risk the plan, but his life too if Voldemort found out.

No, he couldn't tell Harry. This plan was the only chance they had, and to risk that chance, for anything, was suicide.

_Suicide._

Draco's stomach jumped uncomfortably back again. The longer Harry's hunger strike continued, the more likely it was that his suicide attempt would succeed. Curled up on the floor of the cell, sound asleep, he looked less like the tenacious, indestructible hero Draco had always despised, and more like a small, vulnerable boy who'd been through too much. It was terrible to consider, and worse to watch; Draco couldn't let it continue if it could possibly be prevented. Yes, he definitely had to tell Harry.

Draco once again opened his mouth to speak, but again, he stopped short.

What if he failed?

This plan was only a chance at escape, and a slim chance at that. As much as the thought scared him, the probability was high that it wouldn't work, and he and Harry would still be stuck here. If Harry had put faith in Draco's escape plan, only for it to fail, he would still be hale and healthy when the time came for Voldemort to take him. It would be his ultimate failure; to let Voldemort kill him. Harry was a person who thrived on hope, and if Draco offered him any hope of escape, that's exactly what would happen.

Draco bit down on his lower lip and stomped his foot once in frustration. He just couldn't do that to Harry; give him false hope, only to betray him once again. It was probably crueler letting him die by Voldemort's hand than letting him starve himself to death.

_"I would even rather let you kill me."_

As he stood, staring at Harry's sleeping form, those words danced around inside Draco's head. If they never managed to escape, and the suicide attempt failed, Harry might beg that ghastly favour from Draco. If the idea of betraying Harry's trust again was a tough pill to swallow, that would be was immeasurably worse, and Draco knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would never be able to do such a thing.

Don't tell him, or do; bad option or worse; neither choice was particularly appealing, but from what Draco could see, there was only one choice he could really make. It was a huge risk, but until Harry's condition deteriorated too much, it was a risk worth taking. As much as it inexplicably hurt, Harry would just have to go on thinking Draco had betrayed him. Harry couldn't know. Nobody could know.

Draco's shoulders sagged dejectedly as he turned on his heel. He scooped up the book he had abandoned and slumped back into his chair. He felt so terribly alone, but he could live with that. It would be temporary anyway. Soon enough, he'd escape, be inducted as a Death Eater, or die. Although he'd lost track of the exact time, stuck in the dungeons without a clock or the light of day, Draco knew that there were barely more than two weeks left before the eclipse. Sixteen days at most. Now, it was all a matter of waiting.

It was almost a full day before Biddy brought anything more than tea and sandwiches to the dungeons. During that time, the pages describing the _Soul's Eclipse_ potion had been thoroughly burned into Draco's memory, not by careful study, but because he'd been staring at it blankly for so long. He'd also figured out his lunar astrological sign (Moon in Virgo), learned fourteen new hexes that couldn't be traced by the Ministry, and found potions for two potentially useful aphrodisiacs. Not a complete waste of time, he supposed. It was slightly better than staring at the wall, and far, far better than watching Harry.

The boy was still slumped against the far wall of the cell. In hours, Harry had only moved once, to relieve himself. Regardless of the crude nature of the observation, Draco could tell that Harry was becoming dehydrated. Draco found himself tempted again to tell Harry of his potential escape plan, only to become even more undecided about which course of action was more cruel. Finally, he chose to bite his tongue, and remain silent. If Harry could see the whole picture, Draco was sure he'd want it that way.

There were so many reasons why Harry couldn't lose this fight, and Draco understood that. It was his bloody Gryffindor pride. It was his fierce sense of competition; his need to win. It was so that the power Harry possessed, which Voldemort sought so desperately, would die with him. Harry's last gift to the wizard world.

 _That's one hell of a Christmas gift, and it's only September,_ Draco thought ruefully.

Still, watching Harry like this didn't make it any easier.

When the first piece of good news, an escape route, finally arrived in the form of a squeaking, squealing house elf, Draco had to remind himself not to let hope run away with him. Biddy had spent hours searching the maze of passages and catacombs beneath the fortress. Although most of them had been blocked with curses, iron bars, and even a few cave-ins, she had finally found one route, nearly a kilometer long, which exited into a natural cave with a safe passage to the woods outside of the fortress wards.

Once beyond the passage, they would be exposed and alone. For that problem, Draco was relying on the artifacts.

The compass didn't locate a direction; it was a Mislocator, magically altered to prevent the person wearing it, and anyone else within about twenty meters, from being located magically. He'd worn it the night he'd captured Harry, and now it was his key to saving both of them. With it, Draco would be able to move through the passages beneath the castle and the wards without being tracked by magic. If someone physically caught up with him, it wouldn't help one bit, but with a head start, Draco hoped it would be enough.

Then, of course, there was the small matter of being marooned in the woods, kilometers from help, kilometers from Hogwarts. That's where the crystal pyramids were needed. They were a sort of hybrid between a Portkey and a homing device. When one side was activated, it brought a person immediately to the location of the other crystal. Because it didn't need to be charmed for a specific location, it couldn't be tracked by the Ministry like a normal Portkey. Very handy, very illegal. As handy as it could be, the magical connection between the two halves would be detected by Voldemort as a breach in the wards, so it couldn't be brought into the fortress. However, if Biddy managed to plant one half at Hogwarts, all Draco would have to do would be to travel beyond the wards, undetected, and use the Portkey from there.

So simple, yet so cunning. Of course it would work. He, Draco Malfoy, had devised the plan.

That is, it would work, if only he had the pieces. Until then, thinking ahead was premature. For now, all Draco had was the word of a house elf that there was a safe passage from the fortress. That wasn't much.

With a sigh of frustration, Draco shut his book and tossed it aside carelessly. At the moment, all he really wanted was to be able to talk to someone. He needed to vent his building frustrations, but also to be able to get something off his chest he'd wanted to say for countless hours. Unfortunately, his only potential audience wasn't particularly conversant. Besides, what Draco wanted to say, as much as he'd like to say it, couldn't be said to anyone. Not even Harry, although the message was for him.

Sparing a glance in Harry's direction, Draco surveyed his captive. Harry was still slouched against the wall, but now his body seemed relaxed and his eyes were closed. Asleep again, mostly likely. With all that he'd been through, it was no wonder. Draco chewed on his lower lip for a moment, indecisively.

"Potter?" he whispered as quietly as he could. Harry didn't respond.

Draco cocked his head. A bit louder, perhaps? "Potter?"

Harry grunted in his sleep, turned and curled up with his side against the wall, and began to snore softly.

Draco pressed his lips together. This might be the only chance he'd get to say it, even if Harry wasn't aware of it. He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.

"Potter, you probably don't care a damn about this, but I have to say it, even if you're not actually listening. Maybe if we get out of here alive, I'll tell you for real. And if we don't, it won't matter anyway."

Draco paused and opened one eye. Harry hadn't moved, and he was still snoring. Draco sighed and stared down at his hands, folded in his lap.

"I don't know whether to thank you... or to blast you out of existence before ' _Avada-Kedavra-_ ing' myself. You fucking ruined my big chance. I finally thought I'd got it right, but you fucked it up. But I should expect that. You've always fucked up everything for me.

"Why'd you have to do it? Hell, _HOW_ did you do it? I don't even know what you did, but I'm sure it's your fault. You told me to blame you, so I guess I will.

"You uproot me, then leave me hanging like one of Professor Sprout's bloody Mandrakes. Now I know why they scream so loud."

Draco shook his head in dismay at his incoherent thoughts and rambling. "God Potter, what am I even trying to say? I don't even know what to think anymore. I hate you for this mess you've got me into. I've hated you for every fucking thing you ever did to ruin my life. In the end though, whatever happens to us, I want you to know that for some bloody, unknowable reason, I'm sorry. I really am sorry. And despite everything, even though I don't really understand why, I hope that somehow I get the chance to prove it to you.

"I just don't know if I can."

And Harry kept snoring.

Draco blinked once, and wasn't really surprised to find a warm tear dribbling down his cheek. This time, he didn't bother to wipe it away.

Another day passed, maybe more. Draco couldn't quite tell. Biddy continued to arrive with food, but no news, and no pendant. If it wasn't depressing enough to have a distraught house elf arrive with bad news, watching Harry was worse. He was now spending nearly all his time asleep, or at least, apparently asleep. Every so often, Draco would look closer to see if he was alive. Harry's chest continued to rise and fall steadily, and Draco would quickly look away again.

Lucius visited once, not to see how Draco was faring, but to test his knowledge of the _Soul's Eclipse_ potion. Although Draco had lost track of time, he knew that there had to be about two weeks left.

 _Father must simply want to be absolutely certain that I won't fail him,_ Draco thought as he answered all his father's questions. He cited step-by-step procedures, listed ingredients, described the theory, all while maintaining a calm, confident manner, as befitted a Malfoy. He even threw a few well-placed sneers in Harry's direction.

When Lucius seemed satisfied, he left, leaving Draco with nothing but the company of a sleeping prisoner, and the occasional visits of a house elf. Draco had actually begun to look forward to these visits, even though Biddy had arrived each time nearly in tears because she hadn't found the artifacts.

So, when Biddy appeared this time with the usual sharp _crack_ , Draco hardly glanced up from the book in his lap as he gave her a tired smile.

"'Lo Biddy. Did you bring me anything good to eat? Lobster? Truffles? Arsenic?"

An excited, muffled squeal finally made him take a good look at her. Instead of crying, she was hopping from foot to foot, bursting with excitement. In her hand, she carried a small box.

Draco's eyes went wide, and he leaned forward to grasp the box from her.

"You found it," he whispered breathlessly. "Where was it?"

"Master Malfoy, sir, Biddy was looking under the library, sir, when Gabby sees Biddy, and asks Biddy, 'What is you looking for in Master's things, Biddy?' And Biddy is telling her, Master Malfoy sir, that Biddy is looking for the pendant for Master Malfoy. Biddy tells Gabby what the pendant is looking like, and Gabby says to Biddy, 'Gabby is seeing that pendant in the Master's bedroom.'"

At this, Draco sat back and sucked in a sharp breath. "You took something from my father's bedroom?"

Biddy's excitement was almost immediately overshadowed by trembling. "Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir. Biddy had to do it, sir, and when Biddy is caught, Biddy will be punished bad, but you is important to Biddy, Master Malfoy, sir. Biddy had to help. Biddy couldn't let Master Malfoy be unhappy, sir."

Draco opened his mouth to say something, only to find his throat had choked up. For an offence such as taking something from his father's bedroom, Draco knew that even he would be physically punished. Biddy, on the other hand, had probably just forfeited her life.

Draco opened the box to reveal the unusual artifact, shaped like nothing more than an old, dingy Muggle compass. It looked so pathetic, so insignificant; the second piece in his three-pronged escape plan.

"Biddy, thank you. Thank you so much. I... I... just be careful, ok? We still need..."

The loud crash of the dungeon door swinging open froze Draco mid-sentence. There was a second sound, a sharp gasp of pain coming from the cell. Draco snapped around, and saw Harry awake, with his hand clutched tightly to his forehead.

_Voldemort._

Draco jumped to his feet as he shoved the box deep into his robe pocket. "Biddy!" he whispered hoarsely. "Get out of here! Go!"

Biddy disappeared without another word, only an instant before Voldemort swept around the corner of the corridor with Lucius and Wormtail in tow.

Draco dropped to one knee. "My Lord."

Voldemort drew to a halt just a few feet in front of him. "Malfoy, your father tells me you are well versed in the preparation of the _Soul's Eclipse_ potion."

Draco almost lifted his head in surprise, but managed to keep it down. Why would Voldemort be asking now? The eclipse wouldn't happen for another two weeks. Still, Draco answered neutrally, "Yes, my Lord."

"Very well." The toes of Voldemort's boots turned away.

Draco glanced up cautiously. Lucius caught his eye and signaled with a nod that he could stand. He rose to his feet and saw that Voldemort was now standing in front of the cell, arms folded into his robes, glowering down at Harry disdainfully. Draco braced himself, expecting to see the beginning of another epic confrontation between Voldemort and Harry. His expectations proved false.

Harry, who had before shown his defiance to the Dark Lord in the most violent manner he could manage, hadn't even moved. Instead, he was sitting on the floor, glaring back at Voldemort coldly.

"What's this, Potter?" Voldemort gestured with his hands, taunting. "You're not going to dance for my entertainment today? Have you no fight left in you? How terribly boring for me."

Harry continued to stare for a few seconds, and then spoke very low, very deliberately, although his voice was noticeably thin and dry. "I wouldn't give you the pleasure."

Voldemort took a step closer to the bars, and Harry visibly winced against the pain in his forehead. "Passive protest, is it? It makes no difference. Try to deny me, Potter, and you will fail. You've lost. Dumbledore has lost." He grinned maliciously. From his angle, Draco almost thought he saw fangs glinting in Voldemort's mouth where canine teeth should have been.

"I own your life, Potter," Voldemort continued, trying to goad a reaction from the boy. "Soon, I will possess you even more completely."

At this, Harry smiled. It was a sick, twisted smile laced with malevolence. This was certainly not the reaction Voldemort had been hoping to elicit, and the Dark Lord glared furiously.

Wormtail took a short step forward. "My Lord, I believe the Potter boy has lost his mind."

"It's not his mind I came for," Voldemort hissed. "It's his blood."

Before Draco could blink, Voldemort's wand whipped through the air. Harry was abruptly jerked to his feet. His startled cry of protest was cut short as a thick gag wrapped itself around his mouth once again. He was simultaneously slammed back against the wall, and the shackles hanging there snapped tightly around his wrists and ankles. These shackles, unlike those of the Malfoy dungeons, were spaced so far apart that Harry's petite frame was stretched painfully to its limit, allowing almost no motion.

Voldemort sneered his approval. "Malfoy, open the cell."

Draco waited for his father to move, but when Lucius didn't step forward, Draco realized through his mounting confusion and panic that he was now the person expected to act. As his hands fumbled around the key and lock, his mind raced through circles.

_What's going on? He can't be coming for Potter now. It's too soon!_

The key caught in the lock and the door slid open. Draco quickly sidestepped, bowing his head as expected, and let the Dark Lord pass. Wormtail followed Voldemort into the cell, but Lucius stood back, indicating with a subtle wave of his hand for Draco to step back with him.

Even while he moved away from the cell, Draco's full attention was on Harry. Although Harry's movement would have been restricted anyway, he wasn't even trying to struggle. He twitched a couple of times from the pain in his forehead, and the muscles at the corners of his jaw were straining as he fought to contain the reaction, but his eyes were steady, dark, and narrowed challengingly.

Voldemort laughed. "Gryffindor bravery, is it still? You never did learn the difference between bravery and foolishness. But then, neither did your parents."

Harry started to bristle, but almost as quickly resumed his calm glaring. If Draco hadn't been fighting his own sense of panic at this unexpected turn of events, he might have been impressed. But at the moment, he was too busy trying to think rationally, telling himself that Voldemort couldn't possibly be coming for Potter already. Draco may have lost track of time, but two weeks couldn't have just disappeared.

Voldemort was merely coming to play with his favourite toy; a captive Harry Potter. Yes, this was just a diversion for the Dark Lord while he waited for it all to end. That was it. Just a diversion.

Draco's line of thought came to an abrupt halt when Wormtail reached into his robe and withdrew Voldemort's ritual dagger. He offered it, laid flat across the palms of his hands, to the Dark Lord. Voldemort's eyes glittered in the torchlight like crystallized blood as he accepted the dagger without even glancing down at Wormtail. His face twisted in perverse pleasure, Voldemort held the tip of the blade to the cuff of Harry's shirt.

Harry visibly stiffened in reaction to the dagger point so close to his skin. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead, and his left eyelid was twitching madly in response to the pain from his scar. Still, he didn't break eye contact, didn't try to squirm away, even as the blade sliced cleanly through the fabric of his sleeve up to his elbow.

As Draco watched, he could feel sweat beginning to pool under his own collar. The air in the dungeons was becoming hot and heavy, threatening to suffocate him.

_This isn't supposed to be happening! Not now! I'm not ready. How did I not know about this? My god... Harry._

Voldemort made a second swift stroke with his dagger, leaving a deep gash across the thickest part of Harry's forearm. Harry bit down hard on the gag, and a keening cry rose and died in his throat. Blood was already welling up through the gash, oozing rapidly down his arm and staining the remains of his shirt sleeve.

Voldemort bared his teeth triumphantly, then motioned with a wave of his hand. "Wormtail."

The small wizard pulled a small glass phial from a pocket and moved towards Harry, Harry shooting him a hateful and accusing a glare that he usually reserved for Voldemort alone. Unlike Voldemort, Wormtail faltered.

"Be done with it, Wormtail!" Voldemort hissed. "I can not have a servant who is so weak as to nurse a debt such as that. You owe him nothing, and if you make that mistake, you will pay your life to _me_."

In a frantic rush, Wormtail closed the gap between himself and Harry. He kept his eyes glued to the floor as he clumsily filled the phial with blood, secured it with a stopper, and quickly retreated.

Voldemort's eyes raked over his cowering servant before turning back to Harry.

"Almost a pity," he sniffed. "It would have amused me dearly to watch you struggle, Potter, but it would seem you've wasted your last chance to do so."

He suddenly leaned in close to Harry's face. Harry's eyes squeezed shut and the muscles of his jaw and neck strained. Voldemort laughed quietly in his face, then spoke, barely above a whisper.

"It's over, Potter. You die. Hogwarts falls. All Britain will follow. I won't torture you tonight, Potter. I'd rather leave you conscious to think about how I shall torture your Mudblood friends. You should enjoy that."

With obvious effort, Harry forced his eyes open and stared back at Voldemort, their faces only inches apart. Then, gradually, Harry's grimace of pain faded away, and even through the gag, it was unmistakably replaced by a harsh, strangely confident smile.

In some part of his brain, Draco registered the fact that he was probably seeing the two most powerful wizards in the world facing off. The rest of his brain was fighting desperately to keep himself from falling to the floor. It wouldn't take much; his knees were shaking so badly. Everything was falling away from him so fast. Through the fog around his head, he watched Voldemort stride from the cell with Wormtail close on his heel. He was hardly aware as he automatically obeyed Voldemort's command to secure the cell.

As the key caught in the lock, he glanced up at Harry, and found a pair of green eyes staring back for the first time in days.

The shackles snapped open. Harry didn't fall to the floor, but stood steady, like a madman gladly facing his own firing squad. His arms fell to his sides, the left arm still dripping with a steady stream of blood, but he made no effort to staunch the flow. His face was a mask of cold defiance. There was a maniac glint in his eye, and Draco knew why. Harry still expected to die before the eclipse, like a perverse practical joke on Voldemort. After a few moments, Harry leaned back against the stone wall behind him and slowly slid to the floor, exactly as he had been before Voldemort had arrived.

Not once did he take his eyes off Draco.

"Young Malfoy." Voldemort's voice grated on the back of Draco's neck, and he swiftly spun around and crouched into a low bow.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"I expect you to observe Potter carefully in the upcoming days. He seems quite convinced that he has found a means of escape. A foolish and groundless notion, of course, but take no chances. I am certain _you_ would not permit Potter any such chance, but consider yourself advised."

Draco mentally balked. Did the Dark Lord suspect something? No, he couldn't possibly. _Don't slip now, Draco. Calm. Stay calm._ "Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort paused, and Draco could almost feel those glittery red eyes boring into the top of his head. Voldemort spoke evenly, "I trust you did not overestimate your knowledge when you stated you knew the procedures for creating this potion. I will be sending McNair to relieve you of your guard post in one hour. Be certain that you are ready."

Draco felt his stomach twist into a hard knot. "Yes, my Lord."

"Stand."

Draco jumped to his feet as though stuck by a hot iron, but kept his eyes averted from Voldemort's face. He watched, heart thundering, as Voldemort reached towards his neck. For a terrible instant, Draco feared Voldemort was going to choke him to death, but instead, he extended a single long finger and pressed it against the slowly healing dagger wound at the base of his neck. The touch burned like ice, freezing sharply through the flesh, and a deep shudder raced up his spine. It was all Draco could do to suppress his urge to jerk away.

Voldemort appeared not to notice his reaction. "You did not heal this with magic," he stated.

Draco couldn't tell if Voldemort was pleased with this or not. His voice caught too badly to speak, so he merely nodded.

Voldemort considered this for a moment. Finally, he withdrew his hand. "You bear a mark I gave you with pride, and you do not cower from the pain." He sounded satisfied. "You will bear the Dark Mark well."

Abruptly, Voldemort spun in place and strode towards the exit. Wormtail followed closely, and Lucius was about to fall into step when Draco grasped the edge of his cloak.

Lucius glared at Draco irritably, and threw a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure that Voldemort had moved out of earshot down the passage. "What do you want, Draco?" he snarled. "I have several important preparations to make for tonight."

Draco took a steadying breath. "Father, why are we doing this now? Preparing the potion, I mean. The eclipse isn't for another two weeks, is it?"

Lucius opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again, and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling as though utterly fed up with his son. The muscles of his neck flexed as he gritted his teeth. "Draco, you told me you studied this potion thoroughly. Incompetence is absolutely intolerable at this juncture!"

"But father, I did study it!" Draco protested. "I have every page of that potion memorized!"

Lucius took a half step towards Draco, plainly at the end of his patience. "How many times have I told you? When studying the older magic texts, you must read everything. These are not the silly recipe books you use for Potions in school."

Draco felt his jaw slacked. "But... but I..."

"Had you read the foreword, you would know that any potion involving lunar magic is most effective if brewed on the night of the new moon. Such as tonight. Sunset is in two hours."

Lucius scowled at his son, but then his scowl relaxed slightly. "You are fortunate that the Dark Lord did not become aware of your error." He sounded relieved. "It would not bode well for you right now to make any sort of mistake. Do you understand that, Draco?"

So distracted by nerves and racing thoughts, Draco hardly noticed the parental undertones. "Yes, father."

"Good, Draco. Now, I must go attend to the preparations for tonight."

He turned to leave, but Draco caught him again.

"What is it now?" Lucius snapped.

Draco cringed. "Father, the wound on Potter's arm is rather severe. The Dark Lord might be displeased if his prize were to bleed to death before the eclipse. Perhaps I should...?" His voice trailed off.

Lucius's scowl shifted into a satisfied smirk. "Draco, it's good that you are beginning to think ahead, but this time, your concerns are completely unnecessary."

Draco blinked. "Why is that, father?"

"Ah, the Dark Lord was certain that when Potter realized how hopeless his situation was, he'd try to kill himself rather than let himself be killed. Thus, the Dark Lord charmed this cell himself. As long as Potter is inside, he could bleed himself dry, rip out his own heart, or waste away to a mere skeleton, but he would remain quite alive until the Dark Lord is ready for him. The charm will be removed when the time comes."

Lucius looked so utterly pleased with that thought.

If Draco's stomach hadn't already fallen to his feet, he probably would have emptied its meager contents onto his father's boots. Speaking proved impossible again, so he nodded.

"Good. Now see to your preparations while I attend to mine."

With that, he brushed past Draco and strode down the corridor. Draco watched him go. He listened as the sound of footsteps faded, and finally ended with the slamming sound of the dungeon door. He stood there in the oppressive silence, until the stillness was broken by a tiny gasping whimper from the cell. Draco turned to look.

Harry no longer had the look of stubborn defiance Draco had seen when Voldemort left. Instead, he looked like a broken doll that had been thrown against the wall and fallen carelessly to the floor. His right hand was wrapped around the gash on his left arm in a futile attempt to stop the blood that was still oozing steadily from it, welling up between his fingers. The glistening trail of a single tear traced halfway down his cheek, and ended in a smear of blood where Harry must have brushed it away.

But worst of all were his eyes. Under his glasses, Harry's eyes were utterly dead. It had finally happened. Harry Potter had given up.

"BIDDY!" Draco's howl echoed through the dungeons.

With a sharp crack, Biddy appeared at Draco's feet. "Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir?"

Draco dropped to his knees and grabbed the startled house elf by the arms. "Biddy, the crystals? Tell me, have you found the crystal pyramids?"

Biddy's eyes widened and she trembled in his grasp. "M-m-master Malfoy, sir... Biddy is searching night and day, but Biddy is not finding the crystals, Master Malfoy, sir."

Draco stared at her desperately for a moment, then suddenly released her and buried his face in his hands.

"Master Malfoy... what is happened, sir?"

After a long, silent moment, Draco pulled his hands away from his face and looked at her bleakly.

This was it. There was no more time for deliberation, and not a moment to hesitate.

He was still in his father's favour. Everything he'd ever wanted was at his fingertips. Power, glory; all for him. If he wanted it, he could have it.

Without the Portkey, the journey to safety would be dangerous at best, deadly at worst, painful and tedious no matter what. Here, if nothing else, was where he could be safe. Here, his father wanted him. Here, he had a future. Here, he had his place, his name, his promise of power.

Draco thought of Lucius, the man who had raised him, had taught him everything, had _made him a Malfoy._

Then he thought of Harry.

"Biddy, we're leaving. Pack and shrink provisions for a long journey, and be back here in five minutes."

She nodded somberly, replied, "Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir," and vanished.

Draco felt every muscle in his body scream in protest as he straightened his back, stood, and turned to the cell. Harry hadn't moved, but the bloodstain had grown, and his face had turned a ghastly shade of pale.

Draco's hands shook as he turned they key in the lock and slid the door open. He approached Harry slowly, as though approaching a wounded animal, but Harry made no indication that he was going to move. It didn't look as though he could have moved if he wanted to. He seemed to pay no attention as Draco knelt beside him, but continued to stare blankly at the floor in front of him.

Draco surveyed him for a moment, hesitating. Then he reached across and, ever so gently, pried Harry's hand from the wound.

At first, Harry pulled back with a grunt of protest, but he hadn't the strength to fight, and almost immediately stopped struggling. He glanced up, and the deadened gaze wrenched something painful deep in Draco's chest, almost as much as the severity of the gash across Harry's arm.

Draco pulled his wand from his robes and aimed it carefully at the injury. As he was about to mutter the healing spell, Harry whimpered, and Draco stopped short.

Harry's mouth was turned down in a confused frown, and his voice came in a hoarse croak. "But... your father... your father said..."

"Fuck him." Draco's response was firm and resolved, in surprising contrast to the fear and uncertainty that he knew simmered beneath the surface.

Harry's eyes widened momentarily, but quickly fell again, and he looked away.

Draco silently cursed Harry for his stubbornness, but proceeded to exercise his scant medical knowledge. With a few inexpertly placed spells, the blood stopped flowing and the edges of the gash melted together. Draco appraised his work. It wasn't a pretty healing job. It would leave a nasty scar, but it would do until they got to Hogwarts. If they got to Hogwarts.

When Draco finally looked back at Harry's face, the other boy was opening and closing his mouth wordlessly. Draco gave him a weak smile.

"But why... what are you...?"

Draco just shook his head. He slipped his own wand back into his robe, and when he pulled his hand back out, he was gripping Harry's wand. He held out the wand for Harry to take. Harry stared at it stupidly until Draco finally broke the standstill.

"Well, if you don't want it back, I could add it to my collection of wands from famous wizards I've captured. Yours would bring my collection to one."

As though still not entirely sure of what was happening, or if this was all some sort of cruel joke, Harry cautiously reached out and wrapped his fingers around the handle of the wand. As he took it, a hint of life returned to his face. He stared at the wand in amazement; he'd probably thought that he'd never see it again. Draco could see a bit of moisture welling up at the corners of his eyes.

Finally looking away from his wand, Harry licked his dry lips and whispered, "Why are you doing this?"

His eyes locked with Draco's, searching, questioning, hoping beyond hope.

Draco met the gaze and didn't blink.

"You said never to apologize unless I could prove I'm sorry." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Potter. I'm really fucking sorry. And now, I'm going to do my damnedest to prove it to you. We're getting out of here."

In one smooth motion, he stood and looked down at Harry.

First, Harry stared at his wand for another long moment, still held loosely in his hand, before tucking it carefully into his shirt. Then, he looked up at Draco, uncertainty written plainly across his blood-streaked face.

Draco held out his hand to Harry, just as he had five years before. He could feel his throat tighten, and he whispered, "Just hurry, before I change whatever's left of my mind."

Slowly, Harry reached up and clasped Draco's hand.

 

*********  
  
 _In the ink of the night, I saw you bleed.  
Through the thunder, I could hear you scream.   
Solid to the air I breathe, open-eyed and half asleep.   
Falling softly as the rain, no footsteps ringing in your ears.   
Ragged down worn to the skin,   
Warrior raging, have no fear._   
(~Indigo Girls)


	8. Burning Bridges, Throwing Ropes

 

_"Just hurry, before I change whatever's left of my mind."_

Harry stared at Draco uncertainly. The other boy's pale face was strained with anxiety, and his outstretched hand was shaking. After everything that had happened, there was no real reason for Harry to trust Draco. His behaviour had been bizarre and erratic. One moment they'd almost seemed to understand each other, the next the bastard was using the Cruciatus curse on him. Then apologizing, then sneering. There was nothing consistent for him to measure Draco against now.

Harry took a slow breath, trying to force the room to stay steady as it seemed to rock beneath him. How much blood had he lost? He felt so tired, far too lethargic to make any sense of Draco's strange behaviour. True, Draco seemed sincere; he'd returned Harry's wand, after all, and he'd even healed the gash Voldemort had left on Harry's arm, despite being told that it was unnecessary. He'd apologized. Numerous times. That didn't mean Harry had to trust him, though.

But there were no other options. And there was nothing left to lose…

Slowly, Harry reached up and clasped Draco's hand.

Immediately, Draco hauled Harry to his feet, but almost as quickly Harry's legs gave out underneath him. He felt himself going faint and he pitched forwards. He closed his eyes, expecting to collapse face-down on the floor. But instead, Draco caught him under the arms and held him as he sagged helplessly against Draco's chest.

"Potter!" Draco's voice registered surprise and panic. "Can you stand? We have to get out of here!"

Harry struggled to pull his legs beneath him, but they wouldn't support his weight. It was worse than a Jelly-Legs Jinx, and it was disgustingly embarrassing. He moaned softly against the nauseating rush of blood in his ears.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Draco cried in exasperation.

There was a grunt of effort, and Harry found himself being hoisted up; his left arm was slung across Draco's shoulder, and an arm encircled his waist. He opened his eyes blearily as Draco half-carried him out of the cell and, with surprising gentleness, settled him into the soft quilts on the guard chair. Draco knelt in front of him, before reaching out and pressing the back of his hand against Harry's forehead. He frowned.

"You're all clammy."

Harry ignored the faint urge to make a snide comment about blood loss, Dark Lords, and medical shock. He sunk deeper into the quilts and closed his eyes as another wave of dizziness washed over him, then croaked, "Water."

Draco nodded, glancing around the cell. Biddy had taken all the dishes away earlier. Draco grimaced as he reached into his robes and withdrew a small flask and his wand. Harry had seen Draco drinking from the flask at regular intervals, and he was sure it contained some sort of potion.

"Well, I suppose I don't really need this anymore," Draco muttered. " _Facera_ _Aqua_."

Harry looked up at him questioningly, then stared suspiciously at the proffered flask.

"Drink up, Potter. It's just water now."

Harry reached out and accepted the flask, almost dropping it in his weakness. He brought it up to his nose to smell it, tentatively. Draco was right; it was just water. Harry managed to place the opening between his lips and upend it without spilling too much. The water felt so good and cool against his parched throat, but it churned in his painfully empty stomach. Finally, he passed the empty flask back to Draco and forced a weak smile. "Thanks."

"Can you drink any more? I can refill it."

The smile faded. "I don't think so."

Draco didn't seem satisfied with that answer, but he conceded by twisting the cap back on to the flask and tucking it into his robes. "Biddy will be back any moment," he said flatly. "Can you walk?"

Despite knowing how close he was to passing out, the very idea of Draco Malfoy suggesting he couldn't do something as easy as walking was just too demeaning. "Of course I can."

Draco smirked. "Sure, Potter. We'll see."

"I... just give me a minute, okay?"

"Well, a minute is just about all you do have, unless you still want to be sitting here when Macnair comes back. And you don't, do you?"

Harry swallowed a surge of nausea, and shook his head weakly.

Draco's expression became grim. "We'll manage." He seemed to be talking more to himself than to Harry.

Harry squinted at Draco and suddenly realized exactly how scared Draco was. Despite his outward calm, the other boy was paler than usual, and his voice wavered slightly. He was taking a huge risk, trying to make such a bold escape. Certainly it was what Harry had hoped for, but he hadn't really expected it... not after everything that had happened. Not like this.

"Why are you doing this, Malfoy?"

Draco's head snapped up, and for a moment Harry thought he was going to answer, but instead he quickly turned his head away. As he did so, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small box. Harry watched curiously as Draco revealed a dingy old Muggle compass and looped the attached cord around his own neck. He deftly flipped it open and held it out in the dim torchlight. Around the outer edge of the main display was a circular bezel ring with the letters "N" and "S" clearly marked on it. Draco rotated the compass until the needle lined up with the "N" on the dial, then grasped the ring and twisted it 180 degrees, aligning the needle with the "S." He then closed the compass and quickly tucked it into his robes.

Harry stared. "What's...?"

"It's a Mislocator. They won't be able to track us as long as we have this."

"Are you sure?"

Draco glanced up at Harry and twisted his lips pensively. "Well, I used it the night I captured you, and Dumbledore never caught us. He had a tracking charm on you, you know."

"Tracking charm?" Harry asked blankly.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You _didn't_ know?"

Harry shook his head. Dumbledore must have put the charm on him after his mishap at the Ministry the previous spring, and Harry felt a sudden flash of irritation at this unannounced invasion of his privacy.

"Well, it doesn't matter now. You-Know-Who removed it anyway, so it won't be of any help to us."

Harry nodded vaguely, as something tugged at the edge of his thoughts. Then it hit him. "Wait a minute. The Mislocator! _That's_ why the Marauders' Map didn't work."

Draco wrinkled up his nose. "The what?"

"The Marauders'... never mind. It's just... I'd checked the hallways that night, and there was no sign of anyone. Much less you." Harry closed his eyes as another dizzy spell assaulted him, and then whispered hoarsely, "I'd wondered how you'd done it, that's all."

He opened one eye and looked across at Draco. Again, the other boy seemed to be about to speak, but before he could do so, there was a sharp cracking noise as Biddy appeared.

"Master Malfoy, sir! Biddy is having packed sandwiches and fruit and biscuits, and charmed it like Master said, Master Malfoy, sir! Biddy is not knowing what else Master is wanting her to bring, sir." She held out a small sack.

Draco stood quickly, grasped the strap of the sack, and slung across his chest. "It will have to be enough." He paused, and then glanced back over his shoulder. "Almost enough."

Draco moved quickly to the corner where Biddy had put his bags the day he'd arrived. After a brief moment of shuffling through the contents of the larger bag, Harry saw him stuff something into the sack Biddy had given him, although he couldn't see what it was.

"Biddy, are you sure you remember the way out?" Draco asked as he walked back to Harry.

The house-elf wrung her hands nervously. 'Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir."

"Good, because you're leading the way." He looked down at Harry. "Potter, are you _sure_ you can walk?"

Harry felt his face flush with embarrassment. "I told you, yes."

Instead of arguing, Draco smirked in amusement. He suddenly leaned forward, grasped Harry's arm, and pulled the startled boy to his feet. Harry cried out softly in surprise. His legs wobbled unsteadily beneath him, and again, he could feel himself becoming faint. Draco released his arm, and almost immediately, Harry found himself falling.

Just as quickly, Draco caught him again, and held him firmly by the forearms.

Swallowing his pride, Harry leaned his weight against Draco, trying to regain his balance and his breath.

Draco snickered at him. "Of course you can walk on your own. The great Harry Potter can do anything."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Want me to drop you?" Draco loosened his grip just fractionally.

"No!" Harry cried, as he felt himself slipping again. "I mean... I..."

Draco's hands tightened around Harry's arms again, and he pulled Harry up a little bit. "Relax, Potter. I'm not going to let you fall. This time."

Harry nodded; then realized just how physically close he was to Draco. He squirmed slightly. "Er, Malfoy? If I can't walk, how the hell are we going to get out of here?"

At that, Draco smiled at him. In one swift movement, Harry found his left arm once again looped over the back of Draco's neck and shoulders, held in place by Draco's left hand, while Draco's right hand supported him firmly at the waist. "I figure," Draco said, "that I dragged you in here, so it's probably poetic justice that I have to drag your arse back out."

Harry felt another rush of embarrassment. "You are _not_ going to carry me, Malfoy."

"Do you have any better ideas, genius?"

Harry stammered, "I... I'm too heavy."

"Potter, you don't weigh eight stone, soaking wet."

Even more embarrassed, Harry tried to protest, "I... er... I..."

"Thought so." Strangely, Draco didn't sound like he was gloating, the way he normally would. He sounded almost comforting. He looked over at Biddy, who was still wringing her hands nervously.

"All right Biddy, lead the way."

It was all Harry could manage to stumble along quickly enough not to cause them both to trip. Draco was setting the pace, moving at nearly a full jog, still supporting most of Harry's weight. Despite Draco's help, within a minute, Harry's heart was thundering painfully in his chest, the air burning his throat as they rushed along. Trying to ignore the pain, he focused on watching Biddy as she led them down the passage, which was lit only by the most sparsely placed of torches. The house-elf would race ahead, double back to squeak encouragements, and then race ahead again. Soon though, even holding his head up to watch Biddy became too much effort, and his head drooped against Draco's shoulder, pride completely forgotten.

Biddy came to a halt at a fork in the tunnel, and held up a hand for them to stop. Harry could feel Draco's chest heaving; the boy was as much out of breath as Harry was, but he was still standing steadily under Harry's weight.

"Master Malfoy, sir, there is no more lights after this, sir."

"Fine," Draco said breathlessly. He shifted Harry's weight slightly, then fumbled in his robes and withdrew his wand. " _Lumos_."

Harry raised his head and stared down the tunnel. They were facing the left fork, which descended sharply, leading down beneath the fortress.

"All right, Potter?"

Harry turned to look at Draco. The young man was regarding him with obvious concern, eyebrows furrowed together. With Draco's face less than half a foot away, it was a somewhat disconcerting sight.

"Fine… I'm fine."

Draco nodded solemnly. "All right then, but you look like hell." A corner of Draco's mouth twitched up into a faint smile before he looked away. He hesitated for a moment, then held his wand out to Biddy. "You carry this," he said, sounding extremely reluctant. "Just carry it. Nothing else. I can't hold both the wand and Potter."

Before Harry could blink, they were off again. The stones of the floor appeared to race past, giving way to loose gravel and rocks, slick with condensation. The air became colder as they descended, burning again in Harry's lungs. His foot slid on a rock, and his right hand quickly snaked up and grasped the front of Draco's shirt, to try to steady himself against the other boy. Draco tightened his hold around Harry's waist, but he didn't slow. Harry began to lose track of how long they'd been moving, although it couldn't have been more than ten minutes; he was only aware of the desperate need to keep placing one foot in front of the other.

The steep descent finally became level, but after only a few steps on even ground, Harry found himself sloshing through ankle-deep puddles. Fatigue was beginning to blanket his awareness in a dull fog. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe. The stones under the water were coated in algae, causing his feet to slide with each step. Finally, his foot caught on an unseen rock below the dark surface of a puddle and his feet slipped out from underneath him. He lost his tenuous grip on Draco's shoulder and pitched forward, landing hard on his side. Cold water soaked through his shirt and trousers, but he barely noticed. He was so tired, and everything hurt so badly, and it felt so good to be lying still. He closed his eyes.

"Potter!"

Hands shook his arm, and then lifted the side of his face out of the water.

"Snap out of it! We're almost at the end of the tunnel!"

Harry tried to move, but it was just too much effort. Why was Malfoy pestering him anyway? Malfoy was always such a pain in the arse. Why couldn't the prat just leave him alone? Let him sleep? He was so tired, so terribly tired.

Harry tried to tell him to go away, but all that came out was an unintelligible groan.

"Potter, open your eyes!" Draco sounded desperate.

Harry forced his eyes open, just barely. He could see Draco kneeling next to him in the puddle, and Biddy shining a light at them, but they both seemed so far away. Everything was numb and distant. Harry's eyes fell shut again.

"Don't you dare pass out! You're not stopping now."

Something was whispered. Harry felt the familiar warm tingle of a charm being placed on him, and his whole body seemed strangely light; a Weightlessness Charm. Then he was being scooped up and lifted from the puddle.

Harry vaguely registered the fact that he was being carried by Draco, cradled tightly against the other boy's chest. He didn't have the strength to protest. Draco's uneven stride jostled him. At one point, Harry felt Draco stumble slightly, and the arms holding Harry tightened their grip even more. The last thing Harry heard before he finally passed out was the sound of flowing water.

Draco stepped down from the end of the tunnel carefully, still holding Harry. There was a cave, just as Biddy had told him. A stream flowed through the middle of it, and the water and strange rock formations were brilliantly lit by golden sunlight slanting in at a low angle from the cave's entrance. Draco blinked a couple of times against the sudden brightness, trying to let his eyes adjust to it. When he squinted, he could see Biddy standing near the entrance, jumping excitedly.

It had taken no more than fifteen minutes to come this far, and with the Weightlessness Charm on Harry, Draco could easily carry him through the woods until it became too dark to see. Hopefully by then they'd be far enough away to hide for the night.

Draco glanced down at the boy lying limp in his arms. "Potter?"

No response.

"Potter?" Draco held his ear to Harry's mouth. The other boy was still breathing. In truth, it was amazing that Harry had gone as far as he had before collapsing, Draco realized. However, he was all right for the moment, and when they stopped for the night Draco would be able to have him eat, drink, and recover.

Draco picked his way across the uneven floor of the cave towards the entrance. He expected to find himself staring into the thick underbrush of the northern woodlands, but what he saw instead caused his heart to drop to his stomach.

"Biddy, you said there was _safe_ passage into the forest!"

The entrance of the cave was set into the side of a rock face; not sheer, but steep enough, and craggy. Voldemort's fortress was set into the side of the mountain range, and despite the long descent through the tunnels, there was still a drop of about a hundred metres between the cave and the forest floor. Draco's mouth hung open in dismay. This sort of climbing would require all four limbs. Even if Harry was weightless, it would be impossible for Draco to carry him safely down the mountainside.

"Master Malfoy, sir," Biddy squeaked pitifully, "Biddy looked for a better passage, but Biddy found nothing, Master Malfoy sir. Biddy thought Master would be able to climb down, sir."

Draco bit his lip to stop himself from beginning a pointless argument. It was far too late to find another route. Carefully, Draco lowered Harry to the ground, propping him up against a rock just inside the cavern entrance. Harry sagged limply, and his head rolled to the side, completely unresponsive. Draco frowned. He could help Harry down to the forest floor, but Harry would have to do most of the work on his own. Since that was the case, Harry needed to eat and drink to regain some of his strength, but he couldn't do that while he was unconscious. There was no time, but there was also no choice. They had to stop.

"Biddy, here." Draco handed her a clean handkerchief from his pocket. "Go and wet this in the river for me."

"Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir," she whispered.

She ran off, and Draco turned back towards Harry. "Come on, Potter. I didn't carry your arse this far for you to give up now."

He reached up and shook Harry once, then again, more desperately. "You have to eat something, Potter. We don't have much time. Wake up."

He gritted his teeth, feeling anxiety starting to grip him again. "Don't do this to me, Harry. Not now."

In the middle of a broad plain, an incomplete circle of giant stones stood out as mammoth silhouettes against the brilliance of the retreating sun. Within that circle, dark hooded figures were moving about busily. Some were arranging symbols on the ground; two were setting a huge cauldron over a purple bonfire in the centre of the circle. A final figure stood apart from the others, arms folded into his robes, surveying the work of those around him.

In the midst of everything stood Harry Potter.

 _I know this place_ , Harry realized with a start. _Salisbury Plain._ _Stonehenge_ _._ _What am I doing here? Is that...?_

Harry's unvoiced question was answered as the solitary, robed figure turned in place, and two glittering, blood-red eyes peered out from under the edge of the hood. Harry could feel his scar starting to burn. His first instinct was to run, but he quickly realized that he wasn't really there. _Another vision_.

"Malfoy." Voldemort's voice grated painfully against Harry's ears.

Harry watched as one cloaked figure quickly approached and dropped into a low bow at Voldemort's feet. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Walk with me."

Lucius Malfoy stood, and fell into step beside Voldemort as the Dark Lord paced slowly around the area, surveying the work of the Death Eaters that he had selected for the night's ritual. Harry followed behind them, listening carefully.

"Lucius, I have some concerns about the preparedness of your son." Voldemort paused, awaiting Lucius' response.

"My Lord, Draco is both prepared and willing to serve you with honour. Malfoy blood runs in his veins, after all."

A low, throaty laugh escaped Voldemort. "So it does. I am well aware of this. The Malfoy name has served me well. Such loyal service shall be rewarded, but that loyalty must be absolute. Unwavering."

"It is, my Lord."

Voldemort spared a quick sideways glance at Lucius. " _Your_ service to me is absolute, but what of your son? His character is not as strong as yours. He wavers. I have seen it. I feel it."

Lucius didn't reply for a moment, but when he did, his voice was noticeably thinner. "My Lord, he has served you dutifully. He has brought you Harry Potter."

At this, Voldemort suddenly drew up short and rounded on Lucius. The Death Eater began to drop into a bow, but Voldemort caught him lightly under the chin with two long fingers. Lucius' hood fell away as Voldemort tipped his chin upwards.

"That, Lucius, is the only reason I have not yet killed him."

Lucius' eyes widened slightly, but he otherwise showed no noticeable reaction. Harry, on the other hand, choked on his own breath. Sure, Draco had said... but Harry had never really believed...

Voldemort hooked his fingers, drawing Lucius' face an inch closer to his own. "Malfoy, why do you suppose I allowed your son to guard Potter unsupervised?"

Lucius swallowed, hardly moving. His words were hesitant. "Because, my Lord, Potter might have escaped if left unguarded, and the initiated Death Eaters were needed for other tasks... preparations for your glorious victory, my Lord."

Voldemort suddenly seized Lucius' jaw in a vice-like grip. "For all that you are amongst my best, you are blind in matters of your own blood." As he stared at Lucius, Voldemort's mouth slowly curled into a perverse smile. "Malfoy blood has indeed served me well, and it shall continue to do so. Much power flows in your son's veins, Lucius. He is the heir of a long line of fine wizards. You know this."

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius choked.

"That power is bound to my service. On your son's word and on yours." He released Lucius' chin, but continued to hold the man with his stare.

"You should know that Potter could never escape on his own. You underestimate me by thinking so. A guard is completely unnecessary. No, I meant not to honour your son, but to test him.

"As a Malfoy, he aspires to achieve the heights of rank amongst my Death Eaters, and to rise to the heights of power after my inevitable victory. True to his name. But those with such high aspirations are also dangerous, Lucius. Instability in the loyalty of such individuals is unacceptable. There is no room for error amongst my highest ranking servants."

Lucius suddenly seemed to remember to breathe, as though he'd been bound in a trance. He sucked in a strained breath, then bowed his head quickly. "Yes, my Lord."

"It is good that you understand the importance of this, as tonight I shall be testing your son again, for the last time."

Lucius' head came up again, but he seemed to simultaneously shrink back in his robes. "My Lord...?"

"Your son will serve me, Malfoy, make no mistake of that. However... if I find that his loyalty is not... absolute... as I suspect it is not... I might need to find alternative ways for him to bring honour to his name. As you said, his blood is powerful. It will serve me well. Perhaps I might even add it to my cauldron tonight."

Lucius stared back at Voldemort for only an instant before his head fell.

Voldemort nodded in satisfaction. "You are one of my finest, Lucius, and you will be rewarded richly for your services. Now I must go and make my own preparations. In half an hour, send Macnair back to the fortress. And do not accompany him. Your son must stand, or fall, on his own now."

Without another word, Lucius slowly retreated from Voldemort and returned to his work. Voldemort once more surveyed the efforts of his Death Eaters, sneering in satisfaction. Harry watched it all in shock. His scar was burning fiercely, but he ignored it.

_Draco. My God, he really was going to kill Draco._

"Draco... Voldemort... blood... going to kill... Draco..."

Harry had begun moaning fitfully only moments after Draco had set him down, and those moans had shortly coalesced into a rather disturbing string of broken words. Draco could only imagine what sort of visions Harry might be having, but it was plainly another dream of Voldemort. He was doing his best to ignore the fact that his own name was being repeated alongside that of the Dark Lord. He readjusted the cloth on Harry's forehead and checked the boy's pulse, which was still erratic and weak, but seemed to be improving.

"Come on, Potter. I know you can hear me."

Draco held out his hand to Biddy, and she passed him the orange he'd asked her to peel for Harry. He waved the fruit under Harry's nose.

"I've got an orange waiting for you, Potter. I know you're hungry."

Finally, Harry's eyes fluttered open, peering dimly up at Draco, and finally seeming to recognize him. Draco breathed a deep sigh of relief.

"Malfoy…" Harry started weakly. "I saw, I mean, I think I saw, like a dream, Voldemort and your father, and they were talking about you, and Voldemort planned to kill you tonight, and I had no idea, I mean, I was just trying to make you angry, I didn't know..."

As much as Draco was curious to know more about Harry's dream, there simply wasn't time for it now. Besides, hearing that his father and the Dark Lord were discussing his death was _not_ on Draco's preferred list of pleasant entertainment. He put those thoughts firmly aside. Perhaps Harry had merely been hallucinating, not having a vision; but somehow Draco doubted that.

"Potter," he interrupted, "it's great that you're not dead and all, but will you shut up and eat something so we can get moving again?"

Harry looked down at the peeled fruit Draco was offering him. "Orange?" he asked stupidly.

"Yes, an orange. You know, one of those sweet, juicy things we call fruit. Great in compote or marmalade, but sometimes eaten fresh."

Harry stared at Draco.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Potter, you passed out, and my guess is it might have had something to do with your not eating for three days."

"Oh." Harry reached out and took the fruit.

"Eat it fast. We still need to put a lot more distance between us and the fortress."

Harry seemed to need no further prodding as he pulled the orange in half and bit into it ravenously. "How long was I out for?" he asked between bites.

"Just a few minutes."

"And how long do we have until Macnair comes back for you?"

"Thirty minutes if we're lucky. I'm giving you five."

Draco stood and looked out through the cave entrance. Had the situation not been so dire, he might have found himself savouring the view. The forest floor was actually in a broad valley of sorts, and the regal mountains of the northern landscape formed a high, jagged horizon. It was beautiful and serene; Draco could recognize that, but it was not nearly enough to calm him.

"From up here, we won't see sunset for well over an hour, but once we're down on the forest floor, it'll get darker earlier," Draco thought aloud, trying to block out his jitters with logic. "Dusk is the best time to travel. It's hard to see people in the shadows and sound doesn't carry as far as it does at night. It'll make it harder for them to track us. Hogwarts is directly south of here, so as long as we keep going generally south, we'll at least be heading in the right direction while we wait for Biddy to bring the Homing Portkey."

Harry's voice came from behind him. "Malfoy, not to sound ungrateful or anything, but exactly how far do we have to go?"

"Well," Draco answered without looking back, "I'd like to cover at least two miles before it gets too dark, because there will be no moonlight to travel by, and obviously we can't use _Lumos_..."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

Draco sighed, and finally turned to look at Harry. "I'm not sure how far, Potter. It depends." He glanced back over his shoulder. "Biddy, come here."

The house-elf scurried to Draco from where she had been sitting, tucked against the cave wall. "Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir?"

Draco crouched down. "Biddy, Potter and I are going to start moving towards Hogwarts. We have to get as far from here as possible. I need you to keep looking for those pyramids, same as before, except that now when you find them, you have to bring one of them to me and take the other to Hogwarts. Do you understand?"

Instead of answering directly, Biddy stared down at the ground and began twisting the edge of her pillowcase so hard that Harry was quite sure she was going to rip it. "Master Malfoy, sir... Biddy is understanding, sir, but... Biddy is not being able to do this, Master Malfoy, sir."

Draco gaped at Biddy, mouth hanging slightly open in disbelief. "What do you mean, you _can't_ do it?"

Biddy finally looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "Master Malfoy, sir. Biddy is _wanting_ to do it, sir... but if Biddy leaves, Biddy will not be able to find Master again, sir."

Draco shook his head once, briefly closing his eyes, not wanting to hear what Biddy was saying. "Can't _find_ me? What do you mean by that?"

Biddy pointed hesitantly at Draco's chest. "The compass, Master Malfoy, sir. The Mislocator. It is not letting Biddy know where Master Malfoy is, sir."

The nerves that Draco had been trying to bury suddenly overflowed into panic. "Don't you tell me you can't find me! You're a house-elf. A house-elf can _always_ find its master! Right?" His voice was beginning to crack.

Biddy took a tiny step backwards, as though fearing that she might be struck. "Master Malfoy, sir... a house-elf is finding its master always with magic. Biddy is not finding Master because Master's Mislocator blocks magic, Master Malfoy, sir."

Draco stared at her for another moment, feeling his heart thundering painfully in his chest, and then he let his head fall forward. "And the second I stop using the Mislocator, You-Know-Who will find us."

He closed his eyes, and a sense of dark inevitability welled up from the pit of his stomach. A long, potentially arduous journey sounded miserable enough. Consider that the most powerful Dark wizard in a century would be chasing them, and then add Harry Potter to the equation; it was sure to be hell. Not that anything could be done to change that, it seemed.

"What does this all mean, Malfoy?" Harry asked, his voice nervous and thin.

Draco didn't move, but finally replied, "It means, Potter, that we have a very long way to go, and we're going to be completely on our own."

"What were you going to send to Hogwarts?"

"The other half of a two-way Portkey. Like a homing device. Would have taken us right to Dumbledore."

"Oh." Harry paused. "I'd have thought that your father would have taught you to Apparate."

Draco felt a flash of angry embarrassment. "He tried. Splinching incident. Don't you _dare_ ask. And besides, I'm sure you can't Apparate."

"No. But how..."

"Shut up and eat your damned orange, Potter. One thing at a time."

Overstressed and overtired, Draco didn't want to think anymore, and he certainly didn't want to answer questions. They needed to start moving again, not waste more time talking.

"We have to get a message to Dumbledore."

Draco made a noncommittal grunt.

"He has resources, Malfoy. He might be able to get help to us. At the very least, somebody should know where we are. That is, if you really are serious about this. Escaping, that is."

Draco's head shot up, his face burning with furious incredulity. " _If_ I'm serious? _IF?_ Potter, you must have hit your head when you passed out. Think for a second! I just freed You-Know-Who's most valued prisoner, and I left with him! I couldn't change my mind now if I wanted to!"

He paused, considering Harry, who was staring back at him as though stunned, or hurt, by Draco's vehement reaction. Draco felt his breath choke again. "Which I don't," he added softly.

He met Harry's eyes again. "You-Know-Who was planning to kill me tonight, you said? Well, if he wasn't before, he certainly is now. I've only got one way to go, Potter." He jerked his thumb towards the cave entrance. "Damn right, I'm serious."

"I'm sorry, Malfoy."

Draco's expression didn't change. "Prove it."

Harry opened his mouth as though to speak, but no words came. He quickly closed his mouth again and looked away.

"Forget I said that, Potter," Draco said roughly. "I'm still working on my apology to you anyway. And you were right; we do need to get a message to Dumbledore. Biddy, come back here."

Biddy, who had tried to shrink back into the shadows while Draco was yelling, returned to Draco. "Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir?"

"Biddy, go to Hogwarts. Find Dumbledore, and tell him everything. Tell him that Potter and I are alive, and travelling towards Hogwarts from the north." He cast a quick glance at Harry. Dumbledore had to know this, but Draco didn't want to upset Harry any more than necessary. The boy was undeniably tough, but even the strongest wizard can only take so much.

Draco crouched down and whispered to Biddy so Harry couldn't hear, "Tell him that You-Know-Who was planning to use the _Soul's Eclipse_ potion on Potter..." Draco swallowed nervously. "...and tell him that You-Know-Who already has Potter's blood."

He stood back up again. "Can you do that?"

First Biddy nodded, then twisted her lips, and began padding her feet on the floor as tears seeped from her eyes.

Draco felt his nerves peak again. "What is it, Biddy?"

"Master Malfoy, sir... if Biddy cannot find Master, then Biddy again belongs to Senior Master Malfoy. Senior Master Malfoy is telling Biddy, before Biddy is yours, that Biddy must not be telling anyone, not even Mistress Malfoy, anything that is happening here, Master Malfoy, sir."

She looked like she was about to burst into tears.

Draco reached down and grasped her by the arms. "Why didn't you tell me this before? You were ready to go to Dumbledore before! Why not now? WHY?" Draco shook her once, and the house-elf squeaked in fright.

"Malfoy, let her go!" Harry's voice echoed over Biddy's terrified sobs. "She's doing the best she can!"

Surprised by the suddenness of Harry's command, Draco dropped Biddy. She crumbled to the ground in front of him, cowering at his feet.

"Master Malfoy is telling Biddy before," she sobbed, "only to bring the pyramid to Dumbledore. But now, Master is wanting Biddy to give her family's secrets, and Senior Master Malfoy is ordered Biddy not to do that, sir! Biddy cannot, sir!"

Draco stood up straight and stared back down at her, stunned. No matter what he did, Biddy's enslavement bond wouldn't let her tell Dumbledore, even if she wanted to. Every possible plan of action was being taken from him, and now, he had a terrified, sobbing house-elf at his feet.

"Give her clothes, Malfoy."

"What? Are you mad?" He looked back over his shoulder at Harry.

"No. Just do it. Trust me. She'll –"

"Potter, the instant I release her, she'll have no loyalty to me. She won't do anything I ask…"

Harry shook his head. "That's where you're wrong. Maybe a week ago she would have run and never looked back, but have you heard _anything_ she said?" He chuckled. "She likes you, Malfoy. She's loyal to you now, not just your name."

Draco frowned in confusion. "But why?"

An enigmatic grin spread across Harry's face. "Because you earned it, Malfoy."

Draco tore his eyes from Harry and glanced back down to Biddy. She was still crouched on the ground, but now she was peering back up at Draco hopefully, unshed tears shining in her eyes. Draco blinked once, then spoke hesitantly.

"Biddy... if I freed you, would you still go to Hogwarts... and do what I asked you?"

She nodded emphatically. "Oh, Master Malfoy, yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir! Anything for gracious Master!"

Draco took a deep breath. "You know, this goes against everything I was ever taught. But that seems to be the theme of the day, doesn't it? So why quit now?"

At that, Biddy jumped up and wrapped her arms tightly around Draco's leg, sobbing uncontrollably. "Oh, Master Malfoy trusts Biddy! Biddy is a good house-elf! But what will Biddy do without Master? Biddy will not be wanted! But Master trusts Biddy! Oh, Biddy is so happy! Biddy is so sad!"

As soon as Draco recovered from the surprise of having Biddy hug him, he reached down and pried the wailing house-elf from his leg. "Biddy is so confused! Let go of me!"

Biddy quickly released his leg and gazed up at him adoringly, her little hands clasped together under her chin. "Will Master take Biddy back when he returns? Oh please, Master Malfoy, sir? Biddy is not wanting to be abandoned, Master Malfoy, sir..."

"Yes, all right? Yes. Great. Wonderful." Draco looked down at his own clothes, realizing he didn't have any extras. "Potter, what do I give her?"

Harry snickered. "Have any spare socks?"

"My toes are cold."

Draco was grumbling to himself as they carefully picked their way down the steep rocks below the cave entrance, causing Harry to smirk in amusement. Draco quietly considered all the possible ways of obtaining a sock while journeying through the woods and came up with a total of one option: transfigure something. This only led Draco to mentally curse himself for not paying better attention in McGonagall's classes. There'd been a whole month in fourth year devoted to small clothing articles, but after accidentally turning a love bird into a pair of bright green boxers with pink hearts adorning them, in front of the whole class, he'd become completely disgusted with the whole unit of study, and had put it out of his mind as soon as possible. So, he resumed his preferred method of dealing with a problem. Complaining about it. Incessantly.

"My toes are cold, and my shoes are wet, and I think I'm getting a blister."

Harry snickered. "I'll give you a foot-warming charm when we next stop."

Draco hid his grin. At least his antics were keeping Harry going. "Got an answer for everything, haven't you?"

Harry finally chuckled aloud. "Not really. I just pretend, and hope people believe the act. How am I doing so far?"

Draco was still trying to think of a smart answer when Harry's precarious sense of balance failed and he began to fall forwards from the rock face. Draco, who had been climbing below him for just that reason, quickly caught Harry by his shoulders and helped him regain his footing.

"You're doing about as well as your sense of balance. What does that tell you?"

"Thanks, Malfoy," Harry mumbled as he found his centre of gravity and resumed his descent.

"Don't mention it. At all. In fact, if I have to catch you one more time, I might just be tempted to knock you out and levitate you the rest of the way down."

Harry glared at him, and Draco laughed. "Relax, Potter. If I was going to do that, I would have done it while you were unconscious the first time around."

"I'll bet you would have loved that."

"It would have been entertaining."

Harry growled as his foot almost slipped again. "Then why didn't you?" he asked sardonically.

Draco looked away. "Er... honestly?"

"That would be a good start."

"Because my Levitation Charms really _are_ terrible."

"Well, you managed the teacup, didn't you?"

Draco stopped short, pulled out his wand, and waggled it at Harry threateningly. "Do you _want_ me to test it on you?"

Harry eyed the wand nervously. "Er... let's just keep climbing, all right?"

Draco sniggered and slipped the wand back into his pocket. "Thought so." He glanced down. "Besides, we're almost there. It's not as far as it looked from the top."

A few gruelling minutes later, they'd cleared the rock face and ducked through the dense foliage at the edge of the forest. Although there was still over an hour until the actual sunset, the high hills edging the valley cast the forest in grey shadows. Instead of pausing, Draco immediately grabbed Harry around the shoulders again and they began a headlong dash into the woods.

If the slick rocks of the fortress tunnels had been bad to walk through, the brush and brambles of the forest floor were worse. Draco cracked his shins against too many unseen obstacles to count, and branches whipped against his face. He brought up his arm to push the offending boughs out of the way for both himself and Harry, but was only partially successful. His muscles ached from exertion, and his breath was becoming ragged in his chest. Next to him, Harry was struggling even harder. Still, they couldn't slow down. By Draco's reckoning, they had five minutes at the very most before Macnair came looking for them. Maybe five minutes after that before Voldemort began a furious hunt for his two escapees.

Finally, as they crashed through a small clearing, Harry pulled Draco to a halt. "Stop... Can't... breathe... Malfoy." Harry stumbled to the nearest tree trunk, leaned his back against it, and slid to the ground, gasping for breath.

Draco walked stiffly to Harry and leaned sideways against the same tree, trying to catch his own breath. "Don't sit, Potter. You'll throw up... or pass out."

Harry leaned his head back and closed his eyes, speaking in bursts between shallow breaths. "I haven't eaten... enough... to throw up... and if I stand up... I'll pass out."

"Well, you're going to have to get up in a minute. We're running out of time here."

Harry opened his eyes again and looked up at Draco. "I thought that... your Mislocator...?"

"Will only prevent magical tracking, Potter. We're not invisible, in case you hadn't noticed. If a search party stumbles right on top of us..."

Harry nodded, then sat still for a few seconds until his ragged breathing slowed.

Beneath his robes, Draco subtly reached down and reassured himself by patting the sack Biddy had given him. He had brought something else in case of a close call with the Death Eaters, but it was a last resort; using it while travelling would be terribly awkward, and would slow them down far too much. It would have to wait. Without another word, Draco reached into his pocket for the empty flask. A quick spell refilled it with water. He handed it to Harry, who silently accepted it and drank the entire contents, before handing it back.

With a sudden lurch, Harry turned himself over on to his hands and knees. Then, using the tree for balance, he pulled himself to his feet. "Well, what are we waiting for, Malfoy?"

Draco couldn't suppress his smile at Harry's stubborn determination. "Think you can walk on your own yet? Even eight stone soaking wet gets heavy after a while," he said lightly.

Harry removed his hand from the tree trunk. "Absolutely," he said, an instant before he stumbled and had to catch himself with the tree trunk again.

"You were saying?" Draco folded his arms.

Looking extremely affronted, Harry set his face determinedly and started walking unsteadily towards the far side of the clearing, deeper into the woods.

Draco shook his head in disbelief and quickly ran up alongside Harry, catching the boy's elbow. "What's this, Potter? Stubborn to the point of stupidity?"

Harry quickly pulled his arm away. "I prefer to think of it as Gryffindor pride."

"Same thing."

For a moment, Harry glowered at Draco, but it seemed he was too tired to remain even that contrary. Particularly as he was teetering on his feet even while standing still. Draco caught his elbow again.

"Come on, Potter. If it helps, I won't mention any of this when we get back to Hogwarts."

Harry stared at him obstinately for a moment, but then his expression shifted from one of stubbornness to exhaustion. He leaned his weight carefully against Draco's arm without another word of complaint.

Perhaps because Harry was trying so hard to appear tough, the ease with which he allowed himself to be helped only caused Draco more concern. He had to be in a miserable state to permit this much physical contact. As powerful as Harry was, and as awed as Draco had been by Harry's strength against Voldemort, the boy was so terribly weakened now, and Draco found himself feeling disconcertingly protective. True, he had taken on responsibility for Harry, and he had sworn to uphold that. But regardless, it was still a very odd feeling.

Despite his decision – and he was definitely committed to his choice – years of enmity had left their mark. Not only for Draco, but also for Harry. In the brief time since they'd left the dungeons, Harry's body language, his tone, and even the way he looked at Draco all told the same story. Harry still didn't trust him.

"Ready?" Draco asked.

Without looking at him, Harry nodded, remaining silent.

 _Gryffindors_ , Draco thought ruefully as they set out into the woods again, more slowly this time. However they hadn't been walking for even a minute when Harry suddenly stumbled, gasping sharply.

"Potter, we really can't stop yet..."

Draco looked down, but instead of seeing Harry going faint, the boy was clutching his scar tightly, teeth gritted and bared.

"Potter?"

Harry collapsed to the ground with a strangled cry, dragging Draco part way down with him. As Draco tried to untangle himself, Harry began to thrash violently, moaning, kicking up leaves and dirt from the forest floor, his hands still clasped to his forehead. For a moment, Draco was too stunned by the abruptness of the incident to react, but a particularly pained yell from Harry spurred him into action. He grabbed at Harry's arms, trying to stop the boy from hurting himself, but with surprising strength, Harry wrenched away, still screaming.

"NO!"

Draco lost his balance and fell backwards as Harry rolled onto his side and curled up on himself, feet still kicking.

"NO! He knows... ARGH! He's coming... find us..."

Draco scrambled back over to Harry and grasped him firmly around the chest, pinning his arms to his sides, before hauling the writhing boy halfway into his lap.

"Potter, be quiet! They'll hear you a mile away!"

Harry continued to struggle in Draco's arms, but Draco could tell he was tiring quickly. Harry's eyes were squeezed shut as he whimpered, his voice ragged, "He's furious... coming... have to get... out of here. Scar... it hurts..."

Draco reached up and pushed back Harry's fringe. The familiar scar stood out starkly against Harry's pale skin, and Draco winced at the sight of it. Without thinking, he quickly covered the scar with the palm of his hand, and pressed down. The effect was instantaneous. Harry's body went limp against Draco's legs, and he gulped in deep breaths of air. His eyes reopened, and he stared up at Draco as though he hadn't realized the other boy was there.

Squinting, he met Draco's concerned gaze through the shadows. "Draco?" he asked weakly.

Not removing his left hand from Harry's forehead, Draco reached up with his right and adjusted Harry's glasses, which had been knocked askew while Harry had thrashed. Draco forced a faint smile. "I guess You-Know-Who knows we left."

"Yeah," Harry whispered, then winced. "Ouch."

Reflexively, Draco pulled his hand away from Harry's forehead, thinking it was the pressure of his touch hurting the boy, but his actions only caused Harry to bite down on his lower lip, hissing in pain.

Draco started in surprise. "What? Did I hurt you?"

Harry opened his mouth, but suddenly turned his head away and muttered something inaudible.

"What's that, Potter?"

"Your hand was cool."

Draco stared at the back of Harry's head, not knowing quite how to react, until Harry slowly rolled away from him.

"We need to go," Harry said flatly, as he pushed himself to his knees. "We're not far enough away from the fortress. Voldemort just killed Macnair. If he gets his way, you'll be next."

He staggered to his feet, grasped a handy tree branch for support, and rubbed at his scar. "Besides, the closer I am to him, the more this bloody thing hurts."

Draco glanced down at his left hand, the one that he'd pressed over Harry's forehead. On his palm was a faint smudge of blood in the shape of a lightning bolt.

"Malfoy, are you going to sit there and wait for them?"

"No," Draco said quietly. He clenched his hand into a fist, closing his fingers tightly over the smear of blood. "Let's go."

Again, Harry took off ahead of him, walking shakily, but Draco quickly caught up with him, wordlessly taking Harry's elbow. Harry didn't pull his arm away, and his stride did steady with Draco taking some of his weight, but he did nothing else to acknowledge the Draco's support.

For almost an hour, by Harry's rough estimate, they moved steadily through the darkening forest. Through the dense canopy they caught glimpses of the sky as it faded from pale blue, to grey, to ultramarine. Occasionally, Harry would stumble and Draco would catch him, or Harry would hiss in pain and rub his scar, but not a word passed between them. When Harry tripped over yet another unseen branch in the darkness, falling to his bruised knees again, he was almost surprised when Draco collapsed to the ground next to him.

Draco rolled onto his back and took a deep breath. "Even Gryffindor stupidity is no match for pitch darkness. We can't go any further tonight, Potter."

Seizing the opportunity, Harry willingly flopped backwards onto the forest floor. As grateful as he was for the sensation of solid ground beneath his back, he was still nervous. "Do you think... we've gone far enough?"

Next to him, Draco made a noncommittal noise. "It'll have to be far enough. It's too dark to travel, and you're on the verge of complete physical collapse."

Although Harry knew the second point was far too true, he still couldn't stand hearing Malfoy mention his current weakness. "I'm fine," he mumbled.

"Really, now?"

Before Harry realized what was happening, Draco had grasped his wrist, his fingers wrapping around Harry's pulse point.

"Your heart is racing, your breathing is shallow, and it's a wonder you're still conscious."

Taken aback by the sudden invasive movement, Harry wrenched his arm away. "What are you now? A bloody Mediwizard?"

"Potter," Draco said quietly, "It doesn't take a Mediwizard to know how close you came to dying."

Harry froze, caught off-guard by the sincerity in Draco's voice. "So?" he asked edgily. He still couldn't help but feel uneasy with the apparent change in Draco's loyalties. It was too sudden.

" _So_... I didn't risk my neck to get you out of there, only to let you die now." Draco fell silent again. Harry could feel the tension radiating off Draco, mirroring his own.

Even if he could ignore the strain of his scar burning with a constant dull ache, and having Voldemort on a furious manhunt for him, and being marooned in the woods miles from safety; Harry was still having one of the most traumatic days of his life. Draco Malfoy, in voluntary physical contact with him, swinging fists not included. Draco Malfoy, helping him to escape from Voldemort. Draco Malfoy, staring at him with concern and anxiety as Voldemort's wrath manifested itself in the searing pain of his scar. He couldn't deny that something had changed, but Harry wasn't quite sure he trusted that change yet. More specifically, he still couldn't instinctively trust a Malfoy. Five years of enmity wasn't so easy to dismiss, even in such extreme circumstances. It was nerve-racking, to say the least, to have to try.

As if in response to Harry's unvoiced doubts, Draco spoke again, his voice a rough whisper.

"I told you I was sorry. I've never said that to anyone before, Potter. Nobody."

Harry craned his neck sideways to look at Draco. The young man was staring straight upwards, giving Harry a profile view of his face, faintly illuminated by the last traces of daylight. He looked so painfully sincere, all traces of joviality and mockery gone. Harry looked away, turning his attention back to the few stars showing through the tree canopy as Draco began to speak again.

"I watched you, all that time we were in the dungeons. You know I did. Not much entertainment down there. I was so sure you were going to break. I _wanted_ to see you break, but it never happened. I didn't want to admit it to myself, but I was impressed. Then you went spouting off with those sanctimonious lectures. The more I thought about it, the more I figured you were just trying to manipulate me. Maybe you were, but you were right about everything. God, I hate admitting that."

Harry could only listen, stunned by this sudden apparent openness. It was true; he had been trying to manipulate Draco, his captor and jailor. Draco was, after all, his only potential means of escape. That had been his goal at first, his only goal. He wasn't sure when Draco had become something more than merely a means to an end – alarmingly human – but looking back, the idea of manipulation seemed offensive, somehow. He hadn't realized Draco would become so fully aware of it. The thought made him feel guilty.

Draco sniffed once, and then coughed.

"I swore that if we got out, I'd tell you why I used the Cruciatus," Draco said thickly. "I've had days to think about what I wanted to say, so I guess now is the time to say it.

"I had to use the curse, Potter. If you'd stopped to think about it for two seconds, you would have realized that. If I'd refused, my father... my... they would have suspected I'd become disloyal. I would have been removed from my guard post. I would have been punished, and you'd still be in that cell, bleeding."

He paused, and Harry could feel Draco's eyes on him. Slowly, Harry nodded.

"You said you knew how the Unforgivable Curses work. That you have to really want to cause the damage; to want to hurt someone. Well, that's where you're right. What you didn't know was that I wasn't thinking about you when I cast the curse. I had to think about You-Know-Who to make myself angry enough to do it." Draco's careful monologue faltered, and he coughed again, as though trying to dislodge the emotion which was choking him. "But I didn't want to do it, Potter, not after... after everything you'd said, and... what You-Know-Who had said... and what he'd done. Not that time. I almost couldn't do it, but if I hadn't... well... consider the consequences. For both of us."

Draco's voice dropped to a whisper. "I heard you scream, Potter. And I know why you did. It was my fault. For the past three days… whenever it got too quiet, I could hear that sound. I can still hear it. You don't know what it did to me, hearing that. I hope you never hear a scream like that, Potter. But then I hope I never have to hear it again, either."

Draco broke off again, leaving nothing but the sounds of the light wind rustling the trees. Harry stared into the darkness, and blinked once. His eyes hurt, but he wasn't crying. Draco had tried to apologize days before, but Harry hadn't wanted to believe it. Sure, it made sense, in a technical sort of way, but how the hell was he supposed to believe someone who had just tortured him? At the time, he couldn't. But here, miles away from the cold dungeon, there was no way he could deny it.

"I... I understand."

Draco made a nondescript sound in his throat in acknowledgement. "I'm glad, because I don't know if I'd be able to carry that sort of burden, _and_ you. Both are pretty heavy."

Harry felt the corner of his mouth pull up into an involuntary smile. "I thought I wasn't eight stone soaking wet?"

Draco snorted a short laugh. "Okay, so I lied." His voice became serious again. "I promise you though... no matter what it takes... I'm going to do everything I possibly can to get you back to Hogwarts."

That statement was like a splash of icy water, washing away all thoughts of the Cruciatus incident, and bringing him sharply to the present situation, causing his breath to catch in his chest along the way. He sat up and glanced sideways, and saw that Draco was also sitting up, staring back at him through the fading light, sincerity burning brightly in his eyes. Harry looked away and stared down at his lap; he barely knew what to make of Draco's bold promise. It wasn't something that could be taken lightly; not where they were, alone, miles from help. In Harry's exhaustion, coherent thought was just beyond his reach, swirling around with the nebulous threads of distrust that clung to his mind like spider webs. He searched for something to say, but Draco apparently wasn't finished.

"I have something for you, Potter." There was the sound of rustling fabric as Draco spoke. "I never should have had this in the first place, but I thought it would make a nice prize at the time, so before I left the Hogwarts dungeons with you, I turned around and grabbed it. But it's yours."

A poorly folded pile of silvery cloth was placed on Harry's lap. It flowed as it settled against him, shining oddly. Harry's throat choked up and he was immediately grateful that the shadows would hide the wetness welling up in his eyes, as he ran his hand across the surface of his father's old Invisibility Cloak. Slowly, reverently, he scooped up the cloth and pressed it against his face; in part, because he couldn't quite believe he had it back, but also to cover the fact that he was on the edge of an emotional flood.

The cloak was wonderful and familiar; the soft, surreal cloth and the faint, musty smell it carried from being stored for so long in his school trunk. He stayed still, hunched over, breathing through the cloak and trying not to let himself shake.

"I figured," Draco said hesitantly, "that it might come in handy... while we're travelling to Hogwarts. In case... you know."

Harry took a long slow breath before letting the cloak fall away from his face. "Thank you."

They sat there in silence for a moment, until Draco broke the standstill.

"Well, if I'm going to make sure you arrive back at Hogwarts alive, then first things first. You need to regain enough strength to travel, because there's no way in hell that I'm carrying your eight-stone-one-soaking-wet carcass all the way back to Hogwarts." He sat up and looked down at Harry, and Harry could only just discern the smirk on his face through the shadows.

Harry rolled his eyes. Trust Draco Malfoy to break out of a possible emotional overload with a sarcastic quip. "For your information, I weigh nine stone four."

"Maybe you did, but not right now you don't. So sit up, Potter. Suppertime. I'm sure Biddy has packed us a lovely assortment of survival rations."

Harry grinned and set aside the cloak. What better way to begin a treacherous journey than with a snack, anyway? "Sounds good to me. What have you got in there? Fruit?"

Draco rummaged through the small sack Biddy had provided, which apparently was much deeper than it appeared, as Draco's arm disappeared up to his shoulder when he reached into it. "Apples, oranges, bananas, kiwi, quince, mangos, and I think that sharp thing is a pineapple."

Harry chuckled as he slid sideways to lean against a large fallen log. "An apple sounds good. Sandwiches?"

Harry could barely see what Draco was doing as he scuffled through his robes and the sack, but Draco suddenly whispered, _"Lumos,"_ and the tip of his wand glowed faintly from inside the sack. Draco peered in, his face illuminated delicately. "Turkey, roast beef, corned beef – gross, chicken –"

"You hate corned beef?"

Draco wrinkled up his nose. "Naturally. It's disgusting. Why do you care?"

"Oh, Ron hates corned beef too," Harry mused vaguely. "His mother packs him corned beef sandwiches for the Hogwarts Express, and he never eats them." Harry's thoughts drifted to Ron and the Burrow and the Hogwarts Express, and he felt a surge of homesickness. "I miss him, and Hermione. They're probably worried sick. I hope Biddy gets to Dumbledore with the message..."

Draco interrupted Harry's musings by conspicuously clearing his throat. "Turkey? Roast beef? Swift boot to the head?"

"What?" Harry looked up at Draco in confusion.

"We were discussing supper, not the Weasel, er, Weasley," Draco said brusquely.

"Oh." Harry held up short at the strange tone in Draco's voice. He sounded irritated. "Er, turkey would be nice. Biddy seems to have packed everything."

"Yeah, Potter," Draco grumbled as he handed Harry the food, then glanced back into the bag. "Everything but a fresh pair of socks."

Draco didn't stop pestering Harry to eat until the boy had finished off an apple, two turkey sandwiches and three flasks of water. While he was eating, Draco made use of a quick Drying Charm on his and Harry's clothes, then a Cleaning Charm for good measure, all the while keeping a cautious ear to the sounds of the forest. It was his only distraction from Harry's homesick musings about Hogwarts, Quidditch and Ron and Hermione. Normally, mention of the Weasel and the Mudblood would make Draco furious. Now – well, it still made him furious, but it was a different sort of heated irritation.

Up until this point, Draco had only considered the need to get away from Voldemort. In his rush to get away, he'd never considered what he was running _to_. Hearing Harry talk about his friends – it hit Draco in a very uncomfortable way. Not that he gave a damn about the Weasel's sandwich preferences under any circumstances, and normally, mention of Weasley would bring to mind furious memories of the previous year's Quidditch season. But this time, hearing about Weasley didn't bother him in quite the same way.

Draco had never really kept any close friends; they were a liability. Crabbe and Goyle were almost friends by default. Sure, he missed them. Having two hulking minions was a very pleasant thing indeed. They would have been particularly convenient on this journey, in fact, potentially as pack animals. But Crabbe and Goyle would know of Draco's defection long before he'd reach Hogwarts. It was more than likely that he'd be turned into their next punching bag upon his arrival. And then, if he somehow managed to avoid Crabbe and Goyle's fists, to whom would he turn? And what would he be expected to do? Join Dumbledore's little band of do-gooders?

 _Fuck that_ , he thought ruefully. No, he wanted to be as far away from all this as possible. He wanted never to go anywhere near Voldemort, and that included fighting against him.

Maybe Dumbledore would just give Draco a place to hide. He'd be bringing Harry back, safe and sound. Granted, he'd kidnapped the boy in the first place, but bringing him home, especially at such a great risk, should be enough to clear that debt, and hopefully merit him some sort of sanctuary. That sounded reasonable. Voldemort would be after Draco as much as Potter after all this. Dumbledore would surely be willing to protect him too.

But then, Dumbledore hadn't even been able to protect Harry from Draco.

Draco glanced up at Harry to find that the boy's head was drooped forward, apparently asleep. Smiling slightly to himself, Draco crawled over to where Harry was propped up against the log. Up close, he could hear Harry snoring softly. Draco put a hand on Harry's shoulder, and gently shook him.

"Hey, Potter..."

In a heartbeat, Harry jerked awake, and something hard and crumbly collided with the side of Draco's face.

"What? Who? Malfoy! You startled me!"

"No kidding, Potter," Draco snapped, trying to keep his tone hushed. "And don't talk so loudly. We're hiding, remember? And _what_ did you just hit me with?"

Harry glanced down at his empty hand. "Oh, that's what happened to the rest of my biscuit."

Draco blew out a breath in exasperation as he brushed the crumbs from his cheek. "Well, Potter, if I can trust you not to throw any more half-eaten food at me, I was going to suggest you lie down to sleep. You'll sleep better, but also, you'll keep a lower profile."

"Lower profile?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "So that potential search parties are less likely to trip over us... which is also why we're speaking softly..."

"Oh."

"And which is also why I thought to bring the Invisibility Cloak."

"Oh."

Draco smiled into the semi-darkness. "Potter, it's a wonder you've survived for so long, considering your occasional gaps in common sense."

"Hey, I'm a bit tired here. Besides, I've survived this long without your expert guidance."

"Point. Now use what common sense you claim to have, lie down, and get some sleep. You'll need it, because tomorrow we have a lot of ground to cover."

Draco saw Harry's outline move, and heard the leaves rustle as the boy settled himself.

"What about you?" Harry asked through a deep yawn.

Draco sighed. "Well, someone needs to keep a lookout, Potter. Besides, I couldn't sleep now if I wanted to."

"Mmm-hmm..."

Draco watched as Harry's shadowy outline disappeared under a swirl of silvery cloth, and then even that disappeared into the shadows. He sat still, listening to Harry's breathing until it slowed and he was sure the boy was asleep. Without taking his eyes off the spot where Harry had disappeared, he moved carefully around and settled himself against the fallen log. After a moment, there was a rustling of leaves – Harry must have rolled onto his side – and the cloak fell away from his face. For several long minutes, Draco sat watching Harry in the dim light; the shadows around his eyes, the dark bruise on his right cheek, the slight parting of his lips as he breathed.

Draco suddenly realized he was staring. Leaning forward, he delicately caught the edge of the thin cloth and pulled it back up over Harry's face, and again, Harry disappeared from view. Draco sat back against the log, but continued to stare at the apparently empty space where Harry's face had been. Sitting there, feeling the cold ground beneath him, hearing the rustle of the light breeze through the trees and the soft sound of Harry's breathing, the full reality of the situation finally hit him. He and Harry were completely alone, with over a hundred miles of unpredictable terrain between themselves and safety.

And only two weeks in which to cover that distance.

Draco was painfully aware of the fact that Voldemort still had Harry's blood, and the truth of the matter was that he no longer needed Harry in order to kill the boy. Draco had reviewed the spell again and again in his head, but nowhere could he recall a requirement for the victim to be present. And neither could he recall a specific formula for a counter-curse. Sure, he'd looked over the section on counter-curses, in his boredom, but all it contained was theory, not procedures. In a classroom, he might have a chance of interpreting it and creating a counter-curse or an antidote, but out here, he didn't even have the basic ingredients.

No, if Harry was to survive, they needed to get to Hogwarts before the eclipse. Snape and Dumbledore would find a counter-curse. They had to. Otherwise, in two weeks, Voldemort would use the potion, and wherever Harry was at the time, he would die, and there would be nothing Draco could do to stop it.

After everything Harry had gone through, after giving him hope with the escape, Draco didn't have the heart to tell Harry that his life was still in danger. He'd promised Harry that he'd do everything he could to get him back to Hogwarts. Silently, he'd included "alive and well" with that promise. Draco just wasn't sure if promises would be enough.

Two weeks from new moon to full moon.

Fourteen days.

Draco felt around on the ground next to him until his fingers found a length of broken stick. He picked it up and snapped off the ends, leaving a piece just a bit shorter and thicker than his wand. Then he withdrew his dagger from its sheath on his belt. With one deft, careful motion, he cut into the wood at a deep angle. Another swift cut, and a clean, white notch was visible against the bark of the stick.

_Day one._

Draco carefully tucked the stick into his pocket, alongside his wand. With a sigh, he leaned back again and tipped his head back, watching the black silhouette of the leaves against the brilliant stars and indigo sky overhead. Soon, all thoughts drifted to the back of his mind, and there was only the moonless sky, the rustling leaves, the cold log against his back, and the soft sound of Harry's snoring.

But Harry wasn't snoring. In fact, Draco could just make out the faint sound of teeth chattering. He leaned forward.

"Potter?"

He felt around and found the invisible shape of Harry's head, then quickly pulled back the Invisibility Cloak from Harry's face. Up close, Draco could see Harry's lips trembling slightly, shivering. "Potter, are you awake?"

When Harry didn't reply, Draco felt another surge of worry wash through him. He pulled the cloak away, reached down, and gripped Harry's hand; it was ice cold. Whereas Draco had been wearing a proper set of autumn wizard's robes when they'd left, Harry only had the clothes he was wearing the night Draco had caught him. Blue jeans, a t-shirt, an old red jumper, and the thin Invisibility Cloak. Not nearly enough to guard against the chill of a September night in northern Scotland.

"Potter!" Draco grabbed Harry's shoulder, rolled him onto his back, and shook him. "Wake up! You're too cold. You have to move around."

Harry moaned softly and rolled back onto his side, but showed no signs of waking. Draco didn't know if Harry's lethargy was from complete exhaustion, or because Harry had become dangerously cold, or even if the one was related to the other; he was no Mediwizard, as Harry had pointed out. Still, he knew that not being able to rouse a person was never a good sign.

He thought of using a warming charm, but quickly dismissed the notion. Half the time, his warming charms set things on fire.

 _Fire!_ That was it. He'd just light a fire. His wand was already out before he realized just how idiotic that idea was. A search party would see the light or smell the smoke from a mile away. And then there was always the possibility of setting the underbrush ablaze.

Draco rested a hand on Harry's shoulder again. The boy seemed to be shivering less, and somehow Draco was sure that wasn't a good sign. He hesitated, but realized that under the circumstances there was only one thing he could do. Grasping the edge of his own cloak, Draco pulled it up and over Harry, covering him up to the chin. The Invisibility Cloak followed, completely shrouding both of them. Using his warm cloak as a blanket, Draco lay down on his side behind Harry. If body heat was all he had, then that was what he would use.

He quickly squashed the severe feelings of self-consciousness as he tucked himself against Harry's back. This was _not_ the time to be squeamish. It was a necessary survival move, nothing more. And Draco _had_ made a promise.

As soon as he pressed up against Harry, he felt Harry's weak shivering through his own shirt, but absolutely no warmth radiating from the boy. Feeling a nearly painful wave of anxiety, Draco steeled his resolve. He reached over, wrapped his arm across Harry's chest, and pulled Harry tight against him.

Harry's thin form was tense and frail under Draco's grasp. For all Harry's strength and determination, the boy felt so small against Draco, as though he could break with too much pressure. Draco knew better, of course. He'd seen Harry in action, but it was so hard to equate the famous, scarred hero who'd struggled and fought and defied the Dark Lord, with the thin, shivering boy tucked under his arm.

But Draco had made a promise. He would bring Harry back to Hogwarts, alive and well; that was his sworn obligation.

"I promised you," Draco whispered, although he wasn't sure if Harry could hear him, not that he cared at that point. "Whatever it takes."

His breath hitched as reality dug its claws into his chest. Bringing Harry back alive might take more than Draco could give. Draco had Harry, but Voldemort still had Harry's blood. To keep Harry alive would require Draco to engage in a tugging match against the most powerful Dark wizard of the age. That would be a battle Draco wasn't sure he had the strength to win, but it was also one that he refused to lose.

Besides, without Harry, Draco would be completely alone. That thought terrified him.

Impulsively, Draco's arm tightened around Harry, pulling the boy closer against him, as though trying to lend Harry strength as well as warmth. He could almost feel the energy flowing, tingling faintly. Draco closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the back of Harry's neck. The contact was strange and foreign, but not altogether unwelcome, and he felt another surge of protectiveness.

Gradually, Harry stopped shivering and his body relaxed against Draco. The sound of soft snoring soon followed. Although he'd intended to stay awake and listen for danger, the rhythm of Harry's breathing and the warmth radiating between them began to make him drowsy. It had been so long since he'd really slept. He yawned and pulled his cloak up to his chin. As he drifted towards sleep, he whispered softly again in Harry's ear.

"Whatever it takes."

 

*********

 

_Remember everything I told you.  
Keep it in your heart, like a stone.   
And when the winds have blown things 'round and back again,   
What was once your pain will be your home.   
All around the table, white haired men have gathered,   
Spilling their sons' blood like table wine.   
Remember everything I told you.   
Everything in its own time.   
(~Indigo Girls)_

 


	9. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an interlude, not a regular chapter. Many of readers asked to know what was happening back at Hogwarts while Harry and Draco were missing. This is your chance to see. This chapter takes place the night that Harry and Draco escape from Voldemort's dungeons.

 

_I've lost him, and this time, I cannot say with any assurance that I will succeed in saving him. I had worried that the greatest threat to Harry was his own impertinence and rebelliousness – not that those traits are unwarranted, oh no. Harry's shortcomings in this case are no fault of his own, but instead are the product of my own foolishness. I had underestimated his spirit and determination, and to ignore him had ignited a fire that cannot be quenched until he finds his retribution. Still, with an understanding of the situation, I had hoped he would be able to accept what protection I could offer until the proper time came for him to face Voldemort alone._

_But I digress, as old men often do. It was not Harry's fault, not entirely. He did not run off impulsively; he did not even leave of his own accord. With all the things outside of these walls from which I intended to keep Harry safe, I'd never considered the threats within. I never expected one of my own students to go so far._

_Should I have seen the threat in Draco Malfoy? Doubtlessly. You see, as much as I underestimated Harry, I underestimated young Mr. Malfoy. I once discussed the possible threat from Mr. Malfoy with Severus. His thoughts on the matter were unclear. He warned me not to underestimate Draco's capability as a menace, but told me he had hope that me that under the right circumstances the young man might be scared and impressionable enough to be turned. He was surely a Malfoy, convinced of the superiority of pure wizard blood and the importance of power, but Severus was certain that Draco did not have the composition and character of a Death Eater. He was unaccustomed to pressure, and just a bit too scared. Severus suspected that when the time came, Draco would crack under the pressure. So many other young witches and wizards like Draco had attempted to serve Voldemort, confident in their hatred, anger, and prejudices, only to die of a case of cold feet. The only thing in question was whether Draco's hatred was stronger than his fear. I should have realized the threat after Lucius was imprisoned._

_My simple, foolish mistake may have cost us everything._

_The morning of Harry's disappearance was most terrible._

_I had been sitting in this very seat at the head of the Great Hall. I'd awoken with a most uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach that morning, but having indulged in a few too many lemon sherbets before bed the previous night, I had dismissed it. Then I saw Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley enter the hall, noticeably devoid of their usual companion. Both of them looked rather flustered, and after scanning the hall for a moment, Hermione grabbed Ronald by the sleeve and practically bowled over several students in her rush to the High Table. I daresay that she would have run into me had the table not stopped her._

"Headmaster," _Miss Granger said breathlessly, wringing her hands as she spoke_ , "I don't mean to make a fuss out of what could be nothing, because Harry does tend to take off on his own a lot lately, but last night, he went looking for his Potions assignment, because he thought he might have dropped it, you see, but this morning –"

"Hermione, shut up!" _Ronald yanked his arm free of her grasp._ "Sir, Harry's missing. We've looked everywhere."

_I stood and looked down at them, unsure of what to say. "Odd feelings" are not the sort of thing that children need to hear when they're already frantic with worry. Not that they're normal children, by any standards._

_I was just about to ask them to follow me to my office when the door to the Great Hall flew open with a crash. Severus had burst into the hall, looking as worried as is possible for him. He strode to the High Table, and slapped down a rumpled piece of parchment._

"Headmaster, Draco Malfoy is missing, and I believe it has something to do with this."

_Miss Granger must have recognized the parchment, for she gasped, turned pale, and sagged back against Mr. Weasley, who looked just as likely to fall over as she did. When I saw the name scrawled across the top of the paper, I must admit, I nearly felt the same way._

_Hoping to temporarily delay the inevitable panic that would soon spread through the school, I led them all to my office._

" _Miss Granger," I asked, holding up the parchment, "Do you recognize this?"_

"Yes, sir," _she answered, still very pale._ "It's Harry's Potions homework. It was... it was missing from his bag last night. He'd worked all week on it, he spent hours, and he never would have been able to redo it in one night by himself, and he asked me to help him redo it, but I told him he had to be responsible for himself." _She was on the verge of tears at that point._ "I think he went looking for it in the middle of the night with his Invisibility Cloak. I never should have let him go! He knows better than to go wandering at night! I should have helped him! I should have –"

"Shut up, you hysterical girl!" _Severus snarled at her._

 _At that, Mr. Weasley jumped between Severus and Miss Granger._ "Don't you talk to her that way! If Malfoy has something to do with Harry going missing, then you're to blame too, because he's in your bloody house!"

_I might have interrupted there, but underneath Severus's scowl, I could see the look of defeat; he knew Ronald was correct._

"Weasley," _he hissed,_ "if you do not back down, I'll have half of Gryffindor's points for your outburst! And if you'll be even half as mature as you should be, and listen before your mouth earns you a month of detentions, I'll have you know..." _He sighed deeply at that point, although it sounded much like a growl._ "... that you are correct. This is partially my fault."

_Had the situation been less serious, I might have smiled at the stunned look on Ronald's face. Severus merely nodded at him, the resignation showing more clearly then._

"We have a far larger problem on our hands than Potter's homework, although to his marginal credit, the work was the best I've seen from him."

_Severus turned to me, and I could see the guilt hidden in his eyes. I nodded at him to go on._

"Headmaster, just last week, I overheard a rumour that Draco was planning some sort of revenge on Potter for Lucius's capture at the Ministry. It was suggested that he planned to lure Potter from the school, but that threat was buried in a list of relatively normal teenage pranks and vengeance." _At that, Severus's eyes became downcast, and I knew for certain how bad the situation really was._ "I spoke to him and told him not to do anything rash. He usually knows how to take hints such as that, and I assumed it would be enough to prevent anything but the normal pranks. In light of the current situation, however..."

_Severus reached over to my desk and smoothed the parchment in plain view. He extended his wand over it and whispered a soft revealing spell. Immediately, a dark bloodstain appeared on the parchment._

"I regret to say this, Headmaster, but I think we must assume the worst."

_Miss Granger cried out and buried her face against Mr. Weasley's chest, sobbing hysterically. Ronald appeared as stunned as I felt. I honestly did not know what to tell them._

" _There is little comfort I can offer... but I am quite sure that Harry is still alive."_

"How can you know that, sir!" _Miss Granger cried, her face still half-hidden in Ronald's robes._

_Unless I missed my guess, I believed that Voldemort would not make it as simple as a clean death. The fiasco at the Ministry was unplanned, and I believed that, given the time and opportunity to plan, he would not have even attempted to kill Harry in such an expedient manner. He still did not know the full extent of the prophecy, as far as I was aware. He'd risked too much to simply kill Harry, and was far too furious with the boy to let him off so easily. As educated as he was in the Dark Arts, he would know that when any type of blood magic bonds two individuals, such as the spell he used to resurrect his body, their life-forces and magic are tied together. He did not, perhaps, know the extent of his bond to Harry, or the particulars of that bond, which might yet be his weakness. However, since last spring, he'd had the time and opportunity. As clever as Tom Riddle was, he would seek a far more useful death for Harry than mere murder._

" _Because, Miss Granger, I believe that he seeks to use Harry for his further gain."_

_She whimpered and turned to cry softly against Ronald again, but there was nothing more I could have said to comfort her, and I will no longer offer false comfort. She, like the others, has earned my honesty._

"We must start a search at once, Headmaster," _Severus said solemnly._ "Notify the Order."

" _Yes, yes of course." I spoke absently, for even as the automatic responses to the crisis began to run off in my head like a laundry list, another thought had occurred to me. I couldn't say it in front of Hermione and Ronald. I wouldn't even say it to Severus, but I was sure he suspected the same thing._

_Our chances of finding Harry for ourselves were very slim. He could be anywhere, and would most certainly be hidden by layer upon layer of wards, shields, and concealing charms. No, Harry had only two real possibilities of survival. He would either have to escape on his own, or he would have to find help from inside._

_I ran through all of the emergency protocols that morning in a fog. Notify the Order. Notify the Ministry. Coordinate with Order members within the Ministry. Coordinate with the Aurors. Reassure the students. Begin searching using every charm and tracking spell possible. Through it all, one thought pushed all others aside._

_If Harry Potter was to live, his only hope was Draco Malfoy._

Albus Dumbledore sat at the High Table, trying to keep himself from dropping his head into his hands as thoughts of the past week continued to spin through his mind. It wouldn't do for the children to see him despair. It had been just over a week since the disappearance of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. The story had broken in the Daily Prophet within hours of the discovery. Speculation had run wild.

_He Who Must Not Be Named himself has penetrated the defences of Hogwarts and kidnapped the Boy Who Lived! Harry Potter has gone to finish You-Know-Who once and for all. Harry got scared and ran away. Albus Dumbledore is hiding Harry from You-Know-Who, and it's all another farce. You-Know-Who hasn't really returned; Harry just went mad, and they're covering it up. Harry and Draco had a duel and obliterated each other. Harry and Draco were having a secret romance and ran off together._

Each rumour was worse than the last. And of course, and possibly worst of all, there was the raw truth of the matter. _Draco Malfoy has abducted Harry Potter for Voldemort._

A week later, the shock hadn't faded at all.

Albus Dumbledore sighed and looked over the latest headline.

Ministry Officials Confirm Malfoy Link to Potter's Disappearance

It had taken them long enough to figure it out. Granted, neither he nor Severus had revealed the bloody parchment to the Ministry. As upset and disappointed as he was in Draco, he would not intentionally incriminate one of his own students. If Draco had committed a crime, no matter how grievous, on school grounds, it was as much the responsibility of the headmaster and professors as the student. Instead of sharing the fury that many of the professors held for the Malfoy boy, Albus, like Severus, only felt a deep disappointment.

Severus had reported that behind closed doors, the sixth-year Slytherins were bragging about how Draco Malfoy had finally bested Potter. The Gryffindors claimed the exact same thing, only their accounts were coloured with accusations of underhanded tricks and Dark magic. According to Minerva, they were plotting ways to blow up the Slytherin dungeons in retribution. Not that she felt any personal inclination to stop them.

Albus looked up from his dessert plate to gaze over the slowly emptying hall. Most students had finished dinner, with only a few lingering over their pumpkin juice. The school had actually been very quiet for the past week; almost painfully quiet, save for a few fights between the Slytherins and Gryffindors. Around the school, the gossip and the theories had been all but exhausted, and most students had settled into a pensive vigil.

His eyes settled on a bright red head of hair, just beside a bushy brown head. At the sight of Ronald and Hermione, Albus's shoulders slumped. He was sure they'd told the full truth to the few students clustered tightly around them. Ginevra Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and even Miss Lovegood from Ravenclaw. Beyond that small group, it seemed they'd barely spoken to anyone since the morning after Harry's disappearance. What would they say if they did? Albus's heart went out to them more than to anyone else.

Eventually, Hermione stood, followed shortly by Ronald. They moved quietly towards the doors while the others held back long enough to be polite.

 _So adult,_ Albus mused to himself. _They've grown up long before they should have had to. But the last thing they would want is pity. They just want their friend back. As we all do._

The suspense was terrible, and every day that went by without news decreased the chances that they'd ever have Harry back alive. He wasn't dead yet, Albus was certain. He would have sensed... something. Some terrible fluctuation in the web of magic that pervaded the world. But there had been nothing. Just more silence. He didn't even know what Voldemort planned to do with Harry.

He was hoping that tonight, that would change.

Only two hours ago, Severus's mark had burned, calling him to an unexpected meeting.

Albus had told the members of the Order to be alert that night, but to take no action until called. If Severus required backup, he would call, and they could all be there in moments. Any premature activity on the part of an Order member could ruin Severus's chances. Albus glanced down at the plain one-stoned ring on his right hand. He was proud to say he'd taken the idea from Muggles, and he had created a "Beeper", as Tonks had called it. It would glow red the instant Severus required assistance.

In the meantime, all he could do was wait. He would retire to his rooms, make his nightly contacts with members of the Order, remind them to remain on high alert for the night, not that they needed the reminder, and then... wait.

Albus stood slowly, feeling the age in his legs and back. The passage of time on the human body was slowed by magic, but inevitably, time was stronger. It drove on unceasingly, crushing those who could not keep up, leaving them broken by the wayside.

He turned to exit through the rear door of the hall when he heard a commotion from behind him. Looking back, he saw students ducking to the sides of the aisles, calling out in surprise as what seemed to be a very short person ran between them. No, not a short person. A house-elf.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir! Mr. Dumbledore!" came the high-pitched squeak only a moment before the house-elf came fully into view. It was a female, but not dressed in the clean uniform of a Hogwarts' house-elf. This one was dressed in a dingy pillowcase: a choice of attire that was distinctly familiar. She skidded to a stop in front of the High Table, turned, and her eyes went wide when she saw Albus. "Professor Dumbledore, sir! Biddy is bringing news from Biddy's master. Biddy has very important news for you, sir!"

Every student left in the hall was moving slowly towards the High Table, and an undercurrent of curious muttering was growing thick in the room. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, who had already left the hall, had reappeared at the door, but stopped there. Albus stepped towards the house-elf, not wanting to get his hopes up too much.

"Yes," Albus said slowly. "Biddy, is it?"

The house-elf nodded emphatically.

"And who is your master, Biddy?"

"Well, sir, he is not still Biddy's master, because he had to give Biddy clothes so Biddy could come here, because Master's father would have forced Biddy to stay, but Biddy is a good house-elf, and Master promised to take Biddy back! Please don't think poorly of Biddy, sir!"

Albus finally noticed the one dirty sock, not worn, but clutched tightly in her little fist. He held up his hands, trying to waylay her nervous outburst. She was still out of breath from running. "Please, Biddy! I do not think ill of you! You are obviously serving your master well! But I need to know, who _is_ he?"

"Biddy serves Master Draco Malfoy, sir."

Immediately, the murmurs in the hall escalated, but one sharp cry cut through them all. Albus looked up to see Miss Granger running towards the High Table as she had a week before, dragging Mr. Weasley behind her and nearly bowling over dozens of other students in the process. Before she had reached the top of the steps to the High Table, however, Albus held up one hand, indicating for her to stop. It was quite effective, as she stopped so fast that Ronald collided with her from behind.

"OOF! 'Ermione! Easy there!"

She shot a sharp look back at him before turning back to Albus, then staring down sceptically at the house-elf. "You escaped from Malfoy?"

Biddy looked scandalized. "Oh no, Miss! Biddy is not escaping! Biddy is a good house-elf! Master Malfoy trusted Biddy to bring a message to Professor Dumbledore! Oh, Biddy's master is good and kind and he trusts Biddy!"

It was Hermione's turn to look scandalized, and somewhat nauseous. "Are we talking about the same Malfoy?"

"I think," Albus interjected, speaking slowly and deliberately, "that this would best be continued elsewhere." He looked around at the multitude of wide eyes staring from the entire Great Hall, and addressed them loudly. "I would advise everyone to return directly to their common rooms immediately."

With a glance back down, he spoke in a confidential tone. "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, Biddy, please follow me to my office. Ah, and Sir Hector," he addressed a portly wizard in a painting of a holiday banquet, "would you please send up to Gryffindor Tower for Professor McGonagall? This concerns her as well."

The Sir Hector nodded, took another bite from a turkey leg, pulled himself from behind his unending feast with a muffled belch, and waddled out of the painting.

It was all Albus could do to restrain himself from questioning the house elf then and there as they made their way up the staircases to the headmaster's office. He glanced down out of the corner of his eye at the little house-elf, who was doing an ungainly half-run, half-walk beside him, looking up at him anxiously every few steps. Behind them, the only sounds made by Harry's friends were their footsteps. Albus had to admire their restraint. In the meantime, he couldn't help but wonder what type of news Biddy had brought. With some luck, there would be a location, some details, and between Biddy's information, Severus's presence, and the backup of the rest of the Order, a rescue mission could be mounted. Or, if Harry and Draco had escaped beyond the wards of their captivity, unlikely though that might be, they could perhaps be tracked and located. But there was no point in letting hope carry him away.

Minerva caught up with them just before they arrived at the gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office.

"Albus! What is it? Is there news? I noticed that Severus wasn't at supper –"

Albus held up a hand and stopped her questions, inclining his head to indicate that they would discuss it in the office. She pressed her lips together and nodded.

The gargoyle leapt aside at the password ("sugar quill"), the stairs carried them up the familiar spiral, and the office door fell shut behind them with a heavy thud. Albus spun around to face the house-elf, who stood in the middle of the circular office. She looked terribly nervous, like she was on trial.

Before he could question Biddy, however, Hermione had charged forward and seized the creature, picking her up off the ground, bringing them practically nose to nose. "WHERE IS HE? Where's Harry? I know you know! What did Malfoy do to him?"

Biddy squeaked in fright, eyes almost as wide as Ronald's.

"Hermione!" Ronald exclaimed in disbelief. "You... and the... what are you doing?"

Hermione looked back over her shoulder at her friend, with a frantic expression still plastered on her face. Minerva didn't quite seem to know what to say. The most mature student in her house was positively raving.

"Miss Granger," Albus said softly. "If you'd kindly put down the house-elf, she might be able to give us some information."

The girl blinked once and seemed to come to her senses. Looking extremely embarrassed and just a bit shaky, she put Biddy down. For perhaps the first time ever, a house-elf ran in fear for its life from Hermione Granger, and hid behind Albus's robes.

"I... I... I'm sorry," Hermione said, her voice wavering. "I don't know what came over me."

"Bloody worried about Harry," Ronald said firmly, giving her shoulders a squeeze. He nodded towards Albus. "Sorry, sir."

"My mind seems to have drifted for a moment, Mr. Weasley, and I have completely forgotten why you might be apologizing." He reached behind his robes and ushered Biddy back into the open. "Now, if you please, Biddy, we've wasted enough time. What message do you have from your master? Where are Misters Potter and Malfoy?"

"Sir," she began hesitantly, "Master Draco and Harry Potter were in the Dark Lord's fortress. In the dungeons, sir. But they is escaped now, sir."

There was a sob of relief from Hermione, and a sharp intake of breath from Ronald. Albus didn't even spare them a glance.

"They were both in the dungeons? Were they both prisoners?"

Biddy nodded, then shook her head. "Master Malfoy was not a prisoner, sir. Master Malfoy was assigned to guard Harry Potter."

A warm smile spread across Albus's face.

"Sir," Hermione cried. "How can you be smiling about that? That just proves Malfoy is one of them! He captured Harry!"

"Ah, Miss Granger, he _was_ one of them!" Albus winked. "Had they not assigned Mr. Malfoy to guard Harry, I daresay Harry would still be in those dungeons."

"I... I..." Hermione stammered for a moment, then shut her mouth into a tight-lipped grimace.

"Wait a minute," Ronald started. "If you expect me to believe that _Draco bloody Malfoy_ helped Harry to escape, you're out of your mind!"

"Mr. Weasley!" Minerva snapped. "Do _not_ speak like that to the Headmaster!"

"No, no, Minerva, it's all right. I can't blame them for being upset. But Mr. Weasley," Albus's voice turned stern, "that's exactly what I expect you to believe."

"But Malfoy kidnapped Harry!" Ronald protested. "He hurt him! That was Harry's _blood!_ "

"Yes, that is true, but Mr. Malfoy evidently also allowed Harry to escape, and from the sound of things, they left together. That would never have happened had Draco not changed loyalties."

Ronald's mouth hung open for a moment before his face warped into a harsh scowl. "I'd be more likely to believe that Harry broke out himself and dragged Malfoy along so that _I_ can beat him to a bloody pulp when they get back."

Albus frowned his disapproval at Ronald, then turned back to Biddy. "You were there. Would you be so kind as to enlighten us?"

The house-elf hesitated for a moment before her face screwed up in determination. "Master Malfoy planned the escape, sir. Biddy is thinking that the Dark Lord did something to Master Malfoy that Master didn't like, sir. Master Malfoy asked Biddy to help. Biddy found the escape route, and the Mislocator –"

"Mislocator?" Albus interrupted sharply.

"Yes, sir." She looked worried again. "You see, sir, Biddy is not having only good news, sir. Biddy was trying to find the pyramids, sir, they is supposed to work like a Portkey, and Biddy was to take one of them here, and Master Malfoy and Harry Potter would use the other to come right to Hogwarts, sir... but sir, Biddy is not finding them! And now, Master Malfoy and Harry Potter is in the forest, and they have the Mislocator, so the Dark Lord can not find them, but Biddy cannot find them either! They is wanting to come home, sir, but it is so far! Biddy's poor master is alone without Biddy to help him!"

And she broke down into sobs, blowing her nose loudly on her pillowcase, the only sound in the room.

The silence was finally broken by Hermione. "What does this mean, sir?"

Albus responded absently. "The Mislocator... it must be how Mr. Malfoy escaped through the wards with Harry... how clever... but with it, I'm afraid, there is no possible way for us to track the boys. Biddy, where is Voldemort's stronghold?"

Biddy cringed at the name, but otherwise didn't react. "Sir, it is north of here, sir. Biddy is not knowing where exactly, but Master Malfoy knows, sir. They is coming the right way to come here, sir."

Albus took a slow, bracing breath. "Well, I regret to admit, but there is little else I can do. If they have a Mislocator, it would indeed be their best defence against Voldemort. They would do well not to stop using it. If they did, Voldemort would be likely to find them before we could." He began pacing slowly, as his mind raced in contrast. "Not worth the risk, no. Definitely not. But that means our only way to find them would be to scour the forest."

He paused and turned on his heel, struggling not to display his own nerves to Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. "If they are hiding so diligently, however, our own search would only be more likely to assist Voldemort in finding them. Voldemort is resourceful, and would track us in order to find the boys."

A painfully hollow feeling settled into the pit of Albus's stomach. "It would seem," he said slowly, "that Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy are on their own."

"Albus, are you sure there's _nothing_ that can be done?" Minerva asked weakly. "Two boys, alone in the woods, and we have no idea how far they might be! If You-Know-Who doesn't recapture them, they could still perish out there!"

To the side, Hermione whimpered softly. "There has to be a way, sir. A spell, a charm, a tracking tool, _something_! We have to bring Harry home! I'll go to the library immediately... I know there must be –"

"I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that there is nothing." Albus sighed deeply. "The reason the Mislocator is such an effective tool, and so tightly controlled by the Ministry, is because there is no way to overcome its effects. It shields the user like a bubble, blocking all magic going in or coming out. It effectively erases them from the map, making it impossible to defeat. There are currently no more than ten in all of Britain. I would assume Draco got his from his father.

"I'm afraid that we shall have to wait."

"But we _can't_!" Ronald cried out. "I'm not letting Harry just stay out in the woods with _Malfoy_ , and Merlin only knows what sorts of other nasty things are out there!"

"And what would you do, Ronald?" Albus asked. Beneath his beard, his mouth was turned downwards in a tired frown. "Right now, it would seem that any rescue attempt we would make would only increase the danger to Harry. _And_ Draco."

Ronald muttered something under his breath. Albus chose to ignore it. "I would think that perhaps you two should go back to your house. Hopefully, Professor Snape will return shortly with some helpful information. Minerva, if you would please escort –"

A high-pitched whine interrupted him, and only then did Albus realize that Biddy was padding her feet furiously, looking as though she might burst any moment.

"Is there something else, Biddy?"

She nodded furiously, and Albus gestured for her to speak.

"Sir, Master Malfoy gave Biddy one more very important message, sir, but Biddy does not know what it means. Master Malfoy is telling Biddy to tell Albus Dumbledore that the Dark Lord is using the Soul's Eclipse potion on Harry Potter, sir, and that the Dark Lord already has Harry Potter's blood."

Albus felt the blood drain from his face. "Great Merlin's beard," he whispered, an instant before he half-sat, half-fell into the closest chair.

"Albus...?" Minerva took a small step forward. "What does that mean?"

He looked from the face of long-time colleague to the faces of the children – no, the young adults – standing to her side. What should he tell them? What _could_ he tell them? The truth? Albus bowed his head forward. If there was ever a time to be honest, this was it.

"I suppose," he began slowly, feeling the weight of each word, "that I had best start at the beginning."

Hermione shifted her stance uncomfortably. "Why do I have the feeling that I'm not going to like this?"

"Possibly because you're a very perceptive young lady." Albus looked around and gestured to the remaining chairs. "Please do sit down, all of you. It would be preferable."

The chairs moved themselves into a small circle, all facing Albus, and everyone but Biddy sat down.

"Biddy, is that the extent of your message?" Albus asked. "Is there anything else that Draco asked you to tell us?"

"That is everything that Master Malfoy asked Biddy to tell, Mr. Dumbledore, sir." She twisted the fabric of her pillowcase. "But, if Mr. Dumbledore wishes, Biddy can try to answer more questions... if it will help bring Master Draco and Harry Potter home safely, sir."

Albus felt a small smile sneak up under his beard. "Biddy, you are indeed an excellent house-elf. Your Master would be very proud of you."

Biddy's ears perked up, and her eyes shone hopefully. Albus only wished he could fulfil her hopes.

"I shall ask you to return later. For now, if you go to the kitchens, the house-elves here will assist you in finding some clean attire and something hot to eat. You've done very well. Thank you."

"You is very welcome, Professor Dumbledore, sir!" She bowed so low that her nose almost touched the ground, and with a faint pop, she disappeared.

"I always wondered how house-elves can do that on school grounds," Hermione said vaguely.

"I'll explain it another time, Miss Granger," Albus said solemnly. He took a deep breath, leaned forward, and decided to face the discussion head on.

"How much did Harry tell you about the night Voldemort regained his body?"

"The night of the third task, sir?" Ronald asked. Albus nodded, and Ronald's mouth tightened. "He told us what happened, but we knew that the whole thing was... well... a bit upsetting, so we never asked questions. Why?"

"Well, I assume that you know that Voldemort used Harry's blood to recreate his body, yes?"

Ronald shuddered visibly and nodded. In the chair beside his, Hermione shrank back into the cushion just a bit.

"You see," Albus continued, his voice heavy with guilt, "I never explained the repercussions of that to Harry. At the time, I thought that Voldemort's use of Harry's blood could only help us. I believed that Voldemort would not realize the hazard to himself. As long as he was unaware of the problem, he would have no need to seek a solution.

"Whether or not he realizes it, he's found possibly the only way to overcome the obstacle he created for himself."

"Sir," Hermione asked warily, "I don't understand what you're getting at."

"I'm coming to that, Miss Granger. You see, in building a body from Harry's blood, Voldemort's life is therefore _based_ on Harry's. In a sense, they share one life, in two bodies, but it is _Harry's_ life that is the foundation for both of them." Albus nodded once in acknowledgement of the shocked look on Hermione's face, and the disgusted look on Ronald's.

Albus shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and hid the motion by folding his hands beneath his chin. He did not wish to tell this part of the tale. "As much as I regret this admission, I must tell you that the result of this complication would not necessarily safeguard Harry. Harry could still die, but as a result of his death, Voldemort would also cease to exist in corporeal form. My primary intention was still to safeguard Harry, but in the event that I were to fail - as terrible as that would be - Voldemort would also cease to exist. Were his spirit to continue, that remnant of Voldemort would be easier to destroy."

"Wait a minute," Ronald cut in sharply, "you're saying that if You-Know-Who kills Harry, he dies too?"

"In essence, Mr. Weasley, yes."

"Then why is Harry in danger?" Hermione wailed. "Why would You-Know – er... Vol – Voldemort want to kill him at all? Harry never wanted any of this. He shouldn't have to –"

"Then he never did tell you about the prophecy, did he?" Albus said sadly. It was not a question.

"Albus, are you sure you should tell the children?" Minerva asked. Hermione and Ronald startled as if they'd forgotten she was there, and just as quickly, their expressions turned dark.

"They are not children, Minerva. Not anymore. And I intend to tell them the full truth: all of it. They deserve to know." He turned back to Ronald and Hermione. "I had left it up to Harry to tell you what he wished about the prophecy. You were at the Ministry; I'm sure you know of its existence. I suspect, however, that Harry did not tell you what was contained within it."

Two heads shook side to side.

"Considering the situation, I had best tell you." Albus sat back in his chair, as though the distance between him and his audience would soften the blow somewhat. "The prophecy itself dictates that Harry, identified by the circumstances of his parentage and time of birth, is the only person who might defeat Voldemort. When Voldemort learned of this prophecy, fifteen years ago, he attempted to kill Harry. We all know what happened then."

If Ronald or Hermione was reacting to this news, the reaction was hidden carefully behind mask-like expressions.

"There was another aspect of the prophecy. One particular line, which was phrased in a most peculiar manner. _'Neither can live while the other survives.'_ At first, I had assumed the most obvious meaning: either Harry or Voldemort must die. One must kill the other. It appeared to be that simple."

Hermione coughed once.

"You notice something, Miss Granger?"

She nodded.

"Please, explain it, for I would like to hear this from someone else."

Hermione shifted forward in her seat, leaning heavily on her knees. She stared at the floor as she spoke.

"The phrasing is wrong," she said slowly. "If neither can _live_ while the other _survives_ , that must mean that one of them must not be _alive_ right now. I assume that the prophecy would have taken effect somehow the night V-Voldemort disappeared, when he tried to kill Harry the first time...?"

Albus nodded.

Hermione continued. "Since then, it's been one or the other. Harry had survived, and Voldemort wasn't really alive, was he? Then just like you said, when V-Voldemort used Harry's blood... he thought he came back, but he's still not really alive. He's still sharing a life with Harry. Harry... Harry is alive, but Voldemort isn't. Or Harry isn't quite alive, and Voldemort is... but that doesn't make sense! Harry is as alive as you or me!" She stomped one foot. "It's all wrong!"

"It would certainly appear that way." Albus stood and began pacing slowly. He'd spent many hours pacing the floors of his office, using the repetitive motion to help him think, but never had he suspected he would be pacing over such a severe turn of events.

"After Voldemort's return a year and a half ago, I realized a second possible interpretation of that line. Between the one life they have shared from that point in time, only one of them could _keep_ it. I had assumed, based on the fact that he used Harry's blood, that Harry would necessarily be the survivor. Even if Voldemort were to kill him, he would in essence be cutting off his life source, and he would die. That had been my hope, so that even in the worst-case scenario, not all would be lost."

He stopped and leaned against his desk. "But I also knew there was another way... that it was possible for Voldemort to circumvent this loophole. It is possible, however unlikely, that Voldemort could actually _absorb_ Harry's life force itself. It was so far-fetched that I dismissed the possibility. There are only two ways to do it, and both would require such specific circumstances –"

"Two ways, sir?" Ronald asked.

Albus merely shook his head in response, indicating that the question was not important. "Voldemort has not heard the prophecy in full. I did not think he would be aware of this complication. As far as I know, he may still be unaware of it, and his use of the Soul's Eclipse potion may be a coincidence. If it is a coincidence, it is the most deadly sort.

"The potion is an ancient piece of magic, long forgotten by most wizards, using some of the simplest components of Old Magic – herbs, astronomy, and human emotion – to create an unbelievably powerful effect. It uses the blood of the victim, and on the night of a full lunar eclipse, the phasing of the moon triggers a transfer."

"It would transfer Harry's life to Voldemort," Hermione whispered.

Albus nodded sadly. "If he succeeds, he will become more powerful than he has ever been before. If that happens, I do not know that we could stop him."

"But Harry escaped! Voldemort can't –"

"I'm afraid he can, Miss Granger. As Biddy said, Voldemort has already taken Harry's blood. Harry could be on the other side of Britain, but as long as the eclipse is happening over his head and Voldemort's, there is nothing that will stop it."

"Is there any way to block this effect, Albus?" Minerva asked, her voice wavering. "A counter-curse?"

"If there is, I have never seen it. The Soul's Eclipse potion has not been used in centuries, since before Hogwarts was founded."

"Wait, you said that the eclipse has to happen over Harry! If we were to take him away somewhere the eclipse isn't happening, to Canada, or Australia, or Guatemala –"

"Goo-what-a-huh?" Ron said, sounding utterly confused. Hermione glared at him.

"That _might_ work, Miss Granger, but there is no guarantee. And in order to attempt that, we would need to have Harry here."

Albus closed his eyes for a moment, searching himself for some positive thoughts to offer, but there were none. When he opened his eyes, he surveyed the occupants of the room. Minerva had taken out a handkerchief, possibly to dab at her eyes, but instead she was twisting it harshly, and her face was pale and drawn as it had been the previous spring when she had been hit by several Stunners at once. Hermione looked much the same. She was gripping the edge of her school robes so tightly that it was beginning to fray, and her face was pinched as though she were fighting not to cry. Ronald, however...

"AND THIS IS ALL MALFOY'S FAULT!" He jumped to his feet and began storming around the office furiously. "YOU LET DRACO BLOODY MALFOY KIDNAP HARRY FROM UNDER YOUR NOSE!" He paused just long enough to take a swipe at a stack of books on a small table. The books went flying, and Fawkes let out a cry and flew from the room. Albus closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a sharp bite of déjà vu.

"Mr. Weasley!" Minerva cried weakly. "Sit down this instant!"

"I WILL NOT SIT DOWN! HARRY WAS SAFE! HE WAS RIGHT HERE! AND NOW HE'S... he's..." Ronald's voice trailed off, and Albus could see in his eyes just how shallowly his anger was masking his distress.

"Ronald, I assure you, we are doing everything we possibly –"

"Yeah," he whispered hoarsely. "Just like you did everything you could to keep him safe in the first place."

With his jaw set, he turned on his heel, stalked to the door, and pulled it open.

"Ron, please!" Hermione cried after him. "Don't! Professor Dumbledore never meant for this to happen!"

Ronald looked back over his shoulder, and his eyes were icy. "You just _try_ to say that when Harry's dead."

The door slammed, and he was gone.

Hermione spun around in her seat. "Professor! I should... I mean, Ron... I have to go –"

"By all means, Miss Granger," Albus said, inclining his head towards the door. "It would not do for him to be alone, and I'm certain you need him right now as well."

She replied with a tight-lipped nod, got up, and ran after Ronald without looking back.

When the door had fallen shut behind her, Albus finally walked back to his armchair and collapsed backwards into the cushions, trying desperately to choke back the panic that was threatening to take hold. Now more than ever, he needed all of his wits about him. He pulled off his spectacles with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other. He felt the arm of the chair sag as Minerva leaned against it.

"Albus?"

"If I remember correctly, Professor Sinistra mentioned a total lunar eclipse on the 27th of this month. I believe that is approximately two weeks away." He looked up at her through his fingers. "I really don't know what to do this time, Minerva," he said softly. "I never considered... it was my own foolishness... and overconfidence... Voldemort may actually win."

"No! Albus, I will not sit here and watch you give up like this!" She gave him a little shove on the shoulder, which forced his hand away from his face.

"Who said anything about giving up?"

She looked confused. "But you just said –"

"I said I did not know what to _do_ , Minerva. I have not given up hope."

"But we can't just leave Harry out there! We have no idea how far away he is!" She began twisting her handkerchief again. "What if he and the Malfoy boy don't make it back in time? We can't even _try_ to help him if he's not here!"

"No, we can't," Albus said slowly, weighing his words. "But Harry is far more capable than we give him credit for. And apparently, seeing that Draco was able to sneak Harry out from under not only _our_ noses, but also Voldemort's, he too is apparently far more clever than we realized."

Minerva stood swiftly, walked several steps across the office, and spun back around to face Albus. "You said yourself how powerful this potion is! What could two boys hope to do?"

"From his OWL scores, it would seem that Mr. Malfoy is quite skilled with potions –"

"We're NOT talking about children's potions lessons, Albus!"

"I never said we were," Albus said, suddenly feeling a strange sense of calm. "However, I did say that the potion itself was created using very simple components. Harry is a very powerful wizard, regardless of age, and in case you neglected to notice, Draco is also very capable and quite powerful, when he chooses to apply himself."

She folded her arms across her chest, trying to look stern, but more obviously trying to hold herself together. "I thought you said there was no counter-curse."

"No _known_ counter-curse, Minerva. However, in almost all Old Magic, counter-curses and antidotes were often as simple as reversing one aspect of the spell or potion. Usually, it was the most powerful component."

Minerva's eyes widened marginally. "And I'm sure you're going to tell me the most powerful component of this potion."

Albus nodded. "Hate. Pure, unadulterated hatred is what pulls the life from the victim to the victor."

Her arms loosened their grip around her torso. Her voice was weak as she asked, "So the key to the counter-curse would be...?"

"Love, Minerva." He put his spectacles back on, only to peer over the rims. "Love."

 


	10. The Hunted

_Harry woke slowly from a most peculiar dream. Voldemort was chasing him, but instead of throwing curses, Voldemort was throwing rocks and charming branches to try to trip him up. His scar was stinging viciously, and he couldn't see properly. Finally a branch hit him hard on the knee, and his legs went out from underneath him._

_He could hear Voldemort laughing triumphantly as he fell, but he never hit the ground, because Draco caught him and held him tightly. Draco's arms were wrapped reassuringly around him, giving comfort. Harry felt some strength return, flowing from Draco, but then Voldemort screamed in fury and Harry's scar seared with pain._

_Harry saw Voldemort reach towards him, a skeletal hand grasping at some unseen object hovering in the air between them. The claw-like fingers closed around invisible prey, and Voldemort pulled. Harry felt his heart being ripped from his chest, as though Voldemort had actually reached through his ribcage. The pain was stifling, and he couldn't breathe, much less scream. Then suddenly, Draco's hands folded tightly across Harry's chest, and the pain stopped. Harry slumped backwards into Draco's arms, dazed._

_Over Voldemort's enraged howls, Draco's voice rang in Harry's ear. "You can't have him! I'm stronger, and I'm not letting go! You hear me? I'm not letting you take him! Hold on, Harry! Harry..."_

"Harry...? Psst! Harry! Whatever you do... don't move."

A voice was whispering right next to Harry's ear, and he felt a surge of panic and disorientation. His eyes snapped open, but he saw nothing except the faintest of shadows; it was still night. He was lying on his back on the forest floor, and as wakefulness came to him fully, he remembered why he was there.

A warm body was lying surprisingly close to his. "Malfoy?"

"Shh!"

Harry felt a pressure on his chest and noticed with a start that Draco's hand was there, holding him down. He was about to ask what was going on, when he realized they were both underneath the Invisibility Cloak.

"Don't move, and keep quiet, Potter, but look up."

Understanding that this was no joke, Harry strained his eyes to look through the breaks in the leaves overhead. The sky was just slightly lighter than the pitch-darkness of night, but aside from that, there was nothing to see. He was just about to demand an explanation when a bright light flashed overhead, like a search lamp.

"He's flying patrols," Draco whispered nervously. "I should have realized this before. They'll patrol until it gets light enough. Then they'll start tracking us on foot."

A sinking thought hit Harry. "The way we crashed through the woods... A blind man could follow that trail."

Harry sensed Draco's nod. "I just thought of that. First though, they'd have to find the start of our little trail. It took Biddy almost two days to find our escape route, and I doubt You-Know-Who has spent much time in the dungeons. That might give us a small head start."

"I hope you're right. But, er... Malfoy?"

"Mmm?"

"Can you get your hand off my chest?"

Draco immediately removed his hand. "Oh... sorry." He sounded excessively embarrassed, quickly changing the subject. "We need to start moving again, Potter. Carefully. And without leaving a trail."

Harry thought it over. "That's a fine thought, Malfoy, but it won't work."

"Why not?"

Harry didn't miss the slight cracking of Draco's voice. He grimaced. "Dogs. Voldemort will use dogs to sniff us out."

"Sniff us out?" Draco asked incredulously. "What are you talking about?"

"You mean... wizards don't have hunting dogs? Bloodhounds? To sniff out prey?"

"We have Crups, and some wizards keep Muggle dogs, but why on earth would you use them for such a ridiculous purpose when you can trace someone with ma... oh shit." Draco's voice started to tremble. "But... I've never heard of dogs being used like that. Why would You-Know-Who –"

"Maybe you haven't heard of hunting dogs, but Voldemort has. He was raised by Muggles."

For a long moment, Draco was silent, and then he asked very quietly, "What?"

"Voldemort was raised by... surely you knew?"

"Knew what?"

Another flash of a spotlight flooded the area. Despite the Invisibility Cloak, Harry instinctively tucked his head against the ground and covered his face with his arm. Draco flung his arm protectively across Harry's chest, pressing him down. They froze like that, and Harry felt nothing but the pounding of his heart. The light finally passed, and Harry released the breath he'd been holding.

And noticed Draco.

"Er, Malfoy? Hand again?"

"Oh, right. Sorry."

Harry turned towards Draco, barely able to see the outlines of his face through the shadows. Perhaps it was his imagination, but Draco seemed to be shaking.

"What were you saying, Harry? About You-Know-Who?" Draco asked softly.

Harry shook his head. "Malfoy, we really need to talk. Later. Right now, we have to move."

"But the dogs!"

"We _need_ to move!" Harry repeated firmly. "And we need to find a river."

"River?" Draco sounded terribly confused.

"Dogs can't track a scent through water." Harry couldn't suppress his private smirk. "God, Malfoy. You have some serious gaps in your common sense. It's a wonder you're still alive."

"Shut up, Potter. How do we find a river?"

Harry's grin became wider. "Remember Charms class, third year? Using your wand as a dowsing rod?"

"Shut up, Potter."

Harry chuckled softly. "So, do we move with the Invisibility Cloak, or do we take a risk and hope they don't see us?"

Draco sighed deeply. "It'll be hard enough to move in the dark without the cloak; the cloak will do nothing but trip us up, and you're right, we need to _move._ "

"True," Harry agreed. "Which means we're going to need some sort of camouflage."

"Any brilliant ideas?" Draco asked, just a bit sarcastically.

"Well..." Harry slowly sat up, careful not to disrupt the Invisibility Cloak. In reality, he didn't have any ideas. He'd seen enough of Dudley's adventure films to know that anyone trying to hide in the woods needed camouflage. He glanced around out of nervous habit, but there was nothing to be seen, except the vague outline of Draco's face staring back at him.

"I wish I knew the Disillusionment Charm!" Harry slammed his fist onto the ground in frustration. And stopped short. He dug his fingers through the leaves covering the forest floor, feeling the soft, moist dirt underneath. A grin slowly spread across his face. "Wait, I've got an idea."

"Oh?" Draco asked hopefully.

Harry smirked deviously to himself in the darkness as he scooped up a handful of dirt. "Malfoy, I've been wanting to try this again since third year."

*********

"I hate you, Potter," Draco hissed under his breath. "I hate you with the passion of a thousand burning suns."

"You're welcome, Malfoy," Harry whispered back, pleasantly.

In truth, Harry had just as much dirt on his own face as Draco did, possibly more. Still, it was well worth the sacrifice. Camouflage and stealth aside, Harry had dearly relished every moment of smearing dirt through Draco's hair and across his face, while Draco whined pitifully. The Invisibility Cloak had been shrunk and stuffed into the sack alongside Draco's regular cloak to make travel easier. With a quick charm to turn their clothes black, they were off. Harry led the way, using his wand as a dowsing rod.

"I'm going to get you for this, Potter."

"Sure, Malfoy."

Harry didn't mind listening to Draco's random threats. He could tell exactly how nervous Draco actually was, and if complaining made Draco more comfortable, then that was fine with Harry. A scared Draco wasn't something Harry felt he could deal with anyway. An argumentative Draco on the other hand was something familiar; he could handle that.

As they travelled, the grey light of morning slowly spread across the sky, bringing with it a low fog. It shrouded the forest in a strange, unearthly stillness, muffling the boys' footsteps and the rustling of leaves. Conversation ceased, and the boys watched and listened for any sign of pursuit. Searchlights did pass overhead once, but a quick dive under some bushes had seemed to hide them well enough, and there were no indications that the searcher had noticed them.

Finally, the sound of rushing water pierced through the fog, and the boys emerged on the bank of a shallow, rapid river.

"Well, this is wonderful," Draco muttered.

"What is?"

"Which way do we travel, oh clever-as-they-come Gryffindor?"

"Downstream," Harry said confidently.

Draco folded his arms across his chest. "And just how do you know that?"

"Because the river came out of the cave under the fortress," Harry said confidently. "It flows away from the source."

Draco fell silent for a moment before challenging, "Well, how do you know it's the same river? It's a big valley, Potter. And do you even know which way we're going?"

This time, Harry found himself without a ready answer. In all likelihood, it was the same river. But then he didn't know which way they were travelling.

A grin broke out on Harry's face, and he placed his wand flat on the palm of his hand. " _Point me!_ "

The wand spun for a moment before coming to a quivering stop, the tip pointing backwards over Harry's left shoulder.

"That's north," Harry gestured. "We left the castle heading west." He pointed again. "And you said Hogwarts was which way?"

Draco stared at him, shaking his head incredulously before pointing south.

"Good. That means we should travel southwest, away from the castle. Which is downstream. So I was right the first time."

Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance at being bested. "And just where did you learn that little parlour trick?"

"Fourth year. For the Triwizard Tournament. Third task."

"Lovely," Draco grumbled. "Hail the conquering hero."

Harry ignored him. "By the way, how do you know where Hogwarts is from here?"

Draco's demeanour changed in an instant and he bit down hard on his lower lip. His hand went to the base of his throat and Harry saw a recent wound there. He hadn't noticed it before. "Because... because You-Know-Who pointed it out... when he... when he spoke to me."

"Oh," Harry said hesitantly. He stood in an awkward silence for a moment. He made a mental note to ask Draco later what had really happened when he went to meet Voldemort alone. Judging by Draco's reaction, it must have been dreadful. Finally, he broke the standstill, muttering, "We have to start moving again."

"Right," Draco whispered.

Again, Harry took the lead as they splashed into the shallows, hugging close to the bank, hoping the trees would provide some concealment; the grey light that filtered through the fog slowly growing brighter. They continued in relative silence, and Harry kept alert, listening for any hint of pursuit. He stepped carefully, watching his footing along the rocky bottom of the river, trying to walk as steadily as possible. He was still miserably exhausted, but so much better than the day before. Adrenaline and hope were a powerful combination.

Even so, he could feel Draco's eyes on the back of his neck, watching his every step, as though to make sure he wouldn't stumble. Harry positively despised the thought of anyone treating him as though he were delicate, particularly Draco Malfoy. But underneath his stubbornness, he knew he was grateful that someone was watching out for him just then. It was reassuring, in a strange sort of way. Not that he'd ever admit it.

"By the way, Potter," Draco said out of nowhere, "You still owe me that Foot-Warming Charm. If there is such a thing. My feet are freezing."

Harry felt an involuntary grin pull at the corner of his mouth.

"I can't believe you had me give Biddy one of my only two socks. Socks are important. They keep your feet from freezing. Like mine are now."

He spoke so matter-of-factly that Harry laughed out loud. "Malfoy, unless your socks are waterproof, they wouldn't do you a bit of good anyway. My feet are soaking wet and cold too."

"But once my feet are dry again, my socks would keep my feet warm. If I had a full pair. Which I don't."

If Harry hadn't known that Draco was only complaining to keep them both distracted from the tension of the situation, he would have been irritated. But he had to admit to himself that listening to Draco Malfoy in some sort of misery was more than slightly entertaining, so he played along.

"Well, Malfoy, you _could_ have given her your underwear. But then you'd complain about a draft."

"I'll bet you'd love to see my underwear, Potter."

Harry snickered. "I heard the Hufflepuffs did, in fourth year Transfiguration. Green with pink hearts, right?"

"You... You bastard," Draco said, without any real malice.

"I can just picture Biddy with those. She'd be too small to wear them properly, and house-elves have some strange clothing fetishes. I can just picture her with those on top of her head, with her ears sticking out the leg holes."

"I did NOT need that mental image!" Draco sounded disgusted.

"She seemed to adore you quite a bit, Draco," Harry egged him on. "The way she latched on to your leg. Looks like you've finally got yourself a girlfriend!"

"Potter!" Draco cried in exasperation.

Harry stopped and turned around to look at Draco. Draco's cheeks were flushed a furious pink. Harry tipped his head to the side as though considering the matter. "Well, at least Biddy is a touch prettier than Pansy Parkinson."

Draco's scowl softened into an amused smirk. "True enough." He looked down at his trousers, which were soaked up to his knees. "Potter, you had better be right about needing to walk through the river. If it turns out I'm doing this for nothing, I swear I'll-"

Harry held him up short by raising a finger to his lips. "Shh!"

At first, Harry thought it might have been his imagination, but then he heard it again. A slight edge of panic rose in his voice, and he cursed aloud, "Shit!"

He looked around frantically, searching for any immediate place to hide. Spying one, Harry grabbed Draco by the arm and dragged the startled boy across the river and upstream about thirty or forty metres. Here the trees had overgrown the river, creating a deep overhang of dirt and roots. All the while, the sound of barking dogs was drawing closer.

Draco glanced upstream nervously, eying the overhang with equal trepidation. "I'm not going in there. There could be snakes, or spiders, or –"

Harry never got a chance to hear what else there might be under the bank, as he'd already grabbed Draco by the shoulders and shoved him bodily under the overhang.

"Get as far back as you can," Harry whispered roughly, continuing to push Draco as he went. "After Aragog, spiders are nothing, and the snakes will make for some pleasant conversation."

"Aragog?"

"You don't want to know."

"That's _really_ reassuring, Potter." Draco recoiled as he brushed against a mass of tangled roots and dirt. "Oh, gross."

"No, Malfoy! Over here." Harry had found a small ledge and had pulled his feet up and out of the water. "Hurry, they're getting closer."

Draco looked as though he was about to protest again when the sound of a man yelling joined the dogs' barking. With a burst of desperation, Draco scrambled onto the ledge next to Harry.

Harry pressed as far back as he could, doing his best to ignore the dirt crumbling down his shirt, the nervous thudding of his heart, and his close physical proximity to Draco. Through the gaps in the roots of the overhang, Harry could see splotches of the river and the far bank. He craned his neck sideways, and fixed his eyes on the river through the largest gap, listening to the barking and yelling as they grew louder. Finally, three large dogs splashed into view, with two robed wizards running in their wake. Next to him, Harry could feel Draco begin to shake.

"Merlin's beard," Draco breathed, just barely audible. "You were right."

"Just be still," Harry whispered out of the side of his mouth, trying to inject some confidence into his tone. But any certainty he felt vanished when the dogs came to an abrupt halt just thirty metres downstream.

The wizards drew up behind the dogs as they sniffed the air, only a few steps from where Harry and Draco had stopped when they'd heard the dogs in the first place.

"Ruddy beasts seem to think they've found something," said one of the wizards, a tall, broad-shouldered man. Harry couldn't see his face, but there was something about the man that Harry felt he should be able to recognize.

"That is disgustingly obvious, Goyle," drawled a very familiar voice in return.

Draco shrank back against Harry, shivering violently, and whispered in a terrified squeak, "Father..."

In a heartbeat, Harry sealed his hand over Draco's mouth. "Be quiet!" he hissed, not taking his eyes from the scene out on the river. He caught a glimpse of blond hair as Lucius Malfoy turned in place.

"These animals are useless. Why the Dark Lord would use Muggle beasts is beyond my comprehension."

"Well, Malfoy, if your precious son hadn't turned traitor, we wouldn't have this problem, now would we?"

"YOU!" screamed Lucius, "would be wise to hold your tongue! NOW KEEP SEARCHING!"

Lucius moved out of sight, hidden by another mass of roots and dirt, and Harry snuck a look at Draco.

Draco's eyes were wide with fear in his dark, muddy face. Harry bit his lip, internally sympathizing with the boy, but he couldn't risk Draco's panic exposing them. "Can you be still?"

Slowly, Draco nodded. Reluctantly, Harry released him, and then turned his attention to the problem out in the stream.

The dogs were pacing around the far bank and Goyle seemed to be exploring further downstream, but Lucius had taken a few strides upstream, stopping in plain sight. He stood in the middle of the stream, water flowing almost to his knees, although his robes didn't appear to be getting wet. He turned slowly in place, hands on his hips, as though he owned the river.

Just as Lucius' gaze passed over the part of the embankment where the boys were hiding, Draco reached out and grasped Harry's arm, fingers clenching convulsively, digging painfully into Harry's skin. Harry gritted his teeth to stifle his reaction, but Draco hadn't made a noise, so Harry resisted the impulse to remove his hand. Even though the grip hurt like hell. Lucius' line of sight finally turned away from them, but Draco's grip on Harry's arm remained.

_A diversion,_ Harry thought. _I need a diversion._

Without disrupting Draco's grip, although he very much would have liked to do just that, Harry reached into his pocket and withdrew his wand. Praying silently to any deities that might be listening, he took careful aim at a rock on the far bank, near to where the dogs were sniffing.

_"Cuniculus Verto!"_

Where the rock had been only a split second before, suddenly there sat a large white rabbit. The rabbit caught sight of the dogs before turning on its tail, and raced into the woods. Forgetting their previous mission, the dogs immediately turned on the new quarry and took off, howling in pursuit.

Lucius spun around in place. "Goyle! They've found the trail! Follow me!"

A moment later, the river was deserted and Harry finally became aware of the fact that he needed to breathe again. Then the sensation of his arm tingling and aching caught his attention, and he realized Draco was still gripping his arm, even harder than before, if such a thing were possible.

Draco was huddled close against Harry, every muscle in his body tense and trembling. His eyes were peeled wide open, and his breathing was rapid and shallow.

"Malfoy?"

Draco appeared not to notice. If anything, he gripped Harry's arm still tighter.

Harry winced. "Draco, are you all right?"

"What?" Draco turned his head like he'd been slapped, then stared at Harry as though just recognizing him for the first time. "Harry?"

"Er, can I have my arm back?"

"Oh." Draco quickly released Harry's arm, eyes still glazed over and taking not even a cursory glance at the damage he'd caused. He was staring blankly at the spot where his father had been only moments before. "Sorry."

Harry rubbed his arm in an attempt to restore circulation. "Not a problem. Really though, are you all right? You seemed a bit –"

"Fine, Potter," Draco snapped, suddenly breaking away from his trance. "I'm absolutely fine."

"But your father –"

"I SAID I'M FINE!"

Harry recoiled in surprise at the vehemence in Draco's voice, but said nothing. If Draco was taking the route of emotional avoidance to keep himself from panicking, that was fine, for now. He turned away from Draco and squinted through the tangles of roots to stare past the river, looking for any sign that the search party might return.

"How... how did you know to do that?" Draco asked quietly.

Harry glanced at Draco briefly out the corner of his eye. Draco was sitting with his arms wrapped tightly around himself, and was chewing on the inside of his lower lip, taking slow, obvious breaths. It was fair, Harry supposed, for Draco to be a bit shaken up by the whole thing. And if he didn't wish to talk about it, that was fine. For now at least.

"Actually," Harry said casually, "I saw a Muggle film where a couple of criminals escaped search dogs by travelling in a river."

Draco blinked and cocked his head at Harry, eyebrows furrowed. "A what? No, stupid. The rabbit! Not that I'm not supremely grateful, but a rabbit?" he asked, sounding much more like his usual self. "Why the hell did you bother to learn such a silly transfiguration?"

At that, Harry could actually feel himself blushing. "I... er... wanted to learn to pull a rabbit from a hat."

Draco stared at him incredulously. "Potter, you're a strange one, to be sure, but why would you want to learn a pointless stunt like that?"

Harry folded his arms across his chest defensively. "Well, it's a classic Muggle magic trick, and I just... oh never mind. It worked, didn't it?"

Draco scowled and grumbled, "Yeah, Potter. It worked perfectly. Mr. Transfiguration Genius. Now, just transfigure me a sock, will you?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. _What an odd time to think of such a thing._ "Still going on about the sock?"

"Potter," Draco said in an artificially haughty tone, tipping his nose up in the air. The stark contrast of his expression with his filthy appearance struck Harry as funny, and despite the circumstances, Harry gave a short laugh. Draco pretended not to notice. "I have sacrificed an article of my clothing for the welfare of a house-elf, and you. My toes are cold, and I'm quite sure I have a blister. Yes, I am still 'going on' about the bloody sock."

Harry blew air slowly between his pursed lips. If all it took to keep Draco calm was a sock, then Harry could oblige that small favour. "Fine. You want a sock?"

"Yes I do."

"All right." Harry reached up and removed a slug that had been crawling along Draco's shoulder. _"Tibiale Verto!_ "

With a faint pop, the slug in Harry's hand was replaced by a red and gold argyle sock, which he offered to Draco. He couldn't help but snigger slightly. "Forgive me if it's a bit slimy."

Draco stared from the sock in Harry's hand, to the place on his shoulder where the slug had been, appearing distinctly scandalized. "Potter, that is really disgusting."

"Actually, it's warm and woollen." Inspired by the revolted look on Draco's face, Harry continued, "If you want, I can use the slug crawling in your hair to complete a pair of them."

Draco erupted into a panic, flailing his arms around his head. "GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!"

Harry brought up his hands to protect himself from being hit. "I was just kidding!"

Without missing a beat, Draco switched from flailing at his own head to thrashing at Harry. "You bastard!"

Harry laughed as he deflected the blows. "Absolutely. Do you want your sock?"

Draco grunted at him and snatched the sock. "Red... bloody Gryffindors," he grumbled, but he still tucked the sock into his pocket. "Can we _please_ get out of here now?" he asked sharply.

Harry gestured graciously towards the river. "Ladies first."

"Bastard," Draco muttered under his breath, but he made a hasty exit.

Harry chuckled softly to himself as he slid down from the ledge and followed Draco out from under the embankment. Draco seemed nicely distracted from his previous panic, they'd evaded capture, and the day was already turning pleasantly warm and sunny.

_Perhaps_ , Harry thought, _this isn't going to be as bad as it could have been._ He breathed a deep sigh of relief, marvelling at the ease of their escape _._ It was surprising, but he'd take whatever he could get. He squinted as the bright morning sun reflected off the river, temporarily blinding him.

It happened faster than Harry could react. A large fist crashed down on the back of Draco's neck, sending the boy sprawling face-first into the water. Harry lunged towards him with a cry of shock, but just as quickly, a gag found its way around Harry's face and choked his voice back into his throat. Ropes wrapped around his arms and ankles, binding him tightly. Already off-balance, Harry toppled forward and crashed into the shallows alongside Draco.

The water swirled up around his face, filling his nose and ears, causing him to choke. He tried to pull his head above water, but with his hands tied tightly he couldn't gain any leverage. Just as the fear of drowning was about to overwhelm him, something gripped the back of his shirt, and he was hauled bodily from the water.

Next thing he knew, he was being thrown onto dry ground, landing hard enough to knock the wind out of him. A dull thud next to him was the sound of Draco's body being dropped there.

"Well, look at what we have here."

Harry squinted through the droplets of water clinging to his glasses. An enormous face leered at him, perched on even larger shoulders, with almost no visible neck. For an instant of insane horror, Harry almost thought his Uncle Vernon had captured him, but he blinked and the illusion evaporated, and the sinking realization hit him; he'd been captured by a Death Eater.

"You'll be a lovely little prize to take back to the Dark Lord," the man snarled at Harry with satisfaction. "Thought you could escape him, did you? Filthy half-blooded freak."

Harry struggled against his bonds, thinking hopelessly about his wand, which was tucked securely out of reach. Panic began to well up in the back of his mind. The ropes at his wrists seemed to tighten as he struggled against them.

The large man grunted at him, laughing. "Go on, Potter. Struggle. Never met a man who could break one of my binding charms. Think a scrap of a boy like you even has a chance? The Dark Lord will reward us richly for this. Won't he, Wormtail?"

In a flash, Harry's panic was completely overshadowed by rage. _WORMTAIL._

"Yes, Crabbe," came the unenthusiastic reply from somewhere to Harry's left.

Harry tried to turn on his side to face Wormtail, but he was stopped as Crabbe's foot collided with his ribs. He collapsed against the ground as pain shot through his side, biting down on his gag to stifle his reaction.

"Don't damage him, Crabbe," Wormtail said quickly in a thin, shaking voice. "The Dark Lord wants him unharmed."

"He's just gonna kill 'em anyway," Crabbe grumbled, but he finally grunted in consent.

Next to Harry on the ground, there came a faint moan, then a weak cough.

A malevolent grin spread across Crabbe's face, and he walked around Harry towards Draco. Harry twisted onto his side to keep an eye on the man. Draco was lying on his stomach about five feet away, just beginning to stir. A watery trickle of blood ran from an angry looking gash on his temple.

Crabbe hovered over him for a moment, sneering, before flipping the boy over roughly with his foot. Draco made a pained yelp which ended in another scratchy cough. Crabbe stuck his lower lip out. "Hmmphff. Treacherous little whelp. The Master didn't tell us to return this 'un unharmed, did he, Wormtail?"

With a sudden motion, Crabbe lashed out with his foot, kicking Draco viciously in the side of his stomach. Draco cried out and rolled sideways on the ground, away from Crabbe, clutching his arms protectively around his torso. He was facing Harry, but his eyes were squeezed shut, his face screwed up in pain, coughing and moaning. The wound on his temple was still oozing blood across his wet, muddy face, and his hair was still plastered to his cheeks and forehead; he looked nothing like the Draco Malfoy Harry had always known.

Behind Draco, Crabbe had aimed his wand at the boy, and Draco suddenly slid backwards along the ground as though being dragged by an invisible hand. He skidded to a halt at Crabbe's feet.

"That was for betraying the Dark Lord." He kicked again, eliciting another cry from Draco. "So pathetic. And to think, Lucius boasted that _his_ son would be the finest. _Blood traitor_."

He kicked again, but this time it barely pulled a whimper from Draco. Harry watched, helpless, as he felt his worry shifting from his own fate to Draco's situation.

"Crabbe, perhaps we should just take them back," Wormtail said nervously. "The Dark Lord is waiting."

Harry craned his neck around, and finally got a look at Wormtail. The man was wringing his hands and chewing on his lower lip. He must have realized Harry was staring at him, because he glanced down. Harry locked eyes with him, glaring furiously, and Wormtail visibly blanched, shuddered, and looked away. Fury flared through Harry, not only at the presence of the man he hated almost as much as Voldemort, but also at Wormtail's pure cowardice.

One curse. Just one second would be all Harry needed, and he'd blast the despicable rat into oblivion.

"Let's just... st-stun them and... and take them back, Crabbe," Wormtail stuttered.

Harry turned his head to look at Crabbe.

"An extra minute won't hurt," Crabbe complained. " _You,_ of all people, should enjoy the chance to torture this little weed. This bastard would have taken your place at the Dark Lord's side."

"He won't. We've got him. Please, let's go back…"

"Not yet. This little brat thinks he can just stroll in and outrank a _real_ Death Eater. He doesn't know his place. Even if you don't want a stab at him, I do. _Crucio!_ "

Draco's screams ripped through the air. He rolled onto his stomach and began clawing desperately at the ground.

Harry's eyes went wide. If being tortured was the most terrible thing in the world, Harry now knew that listening to the screams of someone else being tortured was nearly as bad. He squirmed on the ground, trying desperately to get to Draco, even though he knew there was nothing he could do to help. Crabbe was howling in malicious delight, but in Harry's mind, there was only Draco; Draco writhing on the ground, screaming in pain, bleeding, just out of reach.

But before Harry had moved more than a foot, a loud yell cut through Draco's screams.

_"STUPEFY!"_

Harry flinched, automatically expecting to be hit with the curse, but it never came. Draco's screaming was almost immediately replaced by the sound of him gasping for air. Surprised by this sudden turn of events, Harry tried to twist around, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. Wormtail was leaning over him.

"Lie still."

Harry felt tugging on his gag. As the cloth fell away from his mouth, it took every bit of self-control he could muster to hold back the string of curses waiting to erupt from him. No matter that Wormtail was untying him. Enough that it was _Wormtail._

The bonds around his ankles were quickly cut away. As Wormtail began to cut the ropes around Harry's wrists, Harry prepared to lunge. One rope snapped, then another. Finally, the last rope was severed, and in a heartbeat, Harry was on his feet, wand aimed level at Wormtail's heart.

But Wormtail was making no move to defend himself. His wand was nowhere to be seen, and he was wringing his hands as though he hadn't a clue what to do with them. Instead of combative, or even defensive, he looked ready to soil his trousers.

Harry faltered for a split-second, surprised by Wormtail's stance, but he quickly reminded himself who he was looking at6 and steeled his resolve. His eyes narrowed, and his voice was low and dangerous.

"Give me one good reason not to finish the job I should have done two years ago."

Wormtail seemed to shrink into his robes momentarily, but then his shoulders slumped in resignation. "G-go on, Potter," he said thinly. "It's only a matter of time before I'm d-dead anyway."

Harry's wand lowered a fraction of an inch. "What are you talking about?"

Wormtail's nose twitched; he almost looked irritated. "Are you daft, Potter? I'm letting you go. What part do you not understand?"

The wand wavered, but then it quickly trained on its target again. "You're a murderous traitor. Why should I believe you?"

At this, Wormtail actually rolled his eyes, although he still hadn't stopped wringing his hands. "Aside from the fact that I s-stunned Crabbe and cut your ropes? N-no reason whatsoever."

Harry stared in confusion, mouth hanging slightly open. This was just too strange. He gritted his teeth again, and took a step towards Wormtail, wand still aimed at the man's heart. He meant to sound furious when he spoke, but he couldn't hide his confusion completely. "It's because of you that my parents are dead and Voldemort is back. You're a coward and a traitor. You still deserve to die."

Wormtail eyed the wand nervously, then slowly shook his head. "Boy, I deserve worse than that, and no m-matter what you do now, I c-can't escape that fate. I give up. I c-can't live with this, and it's better to die by your hand than the Dark Lord's."

Harry finally realized that the man was serious. The wand began to lower. "Then... why?"

Wormtail furrowed his eyebrows. "Y-you really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"A Wizard's life-debt, Potter. I owe you a life-debt, and I'm paying it."

Harry scoffed. "You sold out my parents. You sold me once. I see no reason why some 'debt of honour' would bind you now!"

He took another stride towards Wormtail and raised his wand again. Wormtail's composure finally cracked, and he took a stumbling step backwards. "N-not honour, Potter! If it was just a m-matter of honour, then you're right! I wouldn't do it! I couldn't do it! But you don't understand... I have to do it. I have no choice! I'm bound to you."

Harry wrinkled up his nose in disgust. "I want nothing to do with you. And this 'bond' didn't stop you a year and a half ago, when you tied me to a gravestone and used _my_ blood to bring back your _master._ "

Harry advanced again, fury boiling in his veins like thick oil. Wormtail stepped backwards and tripped, scrambled to his knees, and cowered on the ground, shaking pitifully.

"The Dark Lord promised me immunity from the debt, Potter! I believed him, but it's false! Nothing breaks a life-debt, Potter! A Wizard's life-debt! You can't possibly understand how it haunts me, tortures me! Now, get out of here!"

Harry looked down at the pathetic lump of a man, and lowered his wand. "Why did you do it?" he whispered angrily, undercutting Pettigrew's yells.

Wormtail lifted his head from the ground. "What?"

"Why did you betray my parents?" he growled, low and dangerous. "Why?"

Wormtail scuttered backwards, only to find he'd backed himself against a tree. He stammered unintelligibly for a moment, which only irritated Harry more.

"I need to know why you did it! They were your friends! They trusted you! And you betrayed them and everything they fought for!"

Pettigrew pressed his face into the dirt, the raised it to speak, with dirt smeared across his nose and cheekbones. "I never thought it would go that far, Harry! Your parents were good people, and I wasn't good enough! I got in too deep!"

Harry advanced on him again, glaring at him fiercely, unrelenting. "WHY?"

Wormtail shook convulsively, clutching at his own robes like a madman. "Because the Dark Lord was everywhere! There was no escape! He would have killed me!"

"You could have fought!"

"I was scared!" Wormtail howled in despair, collapsing against the tree, a shivering, shaking pile of oversized robes. He was breathing hard, and began muttering to himself, "I was scared... I was scared..."

Harry was torn between feelings of contempt and disgust as he stared down at Wormtail. "Get up," he snapped.

Wormtail glanced at him hesitantly.

"I SAID GET UP! Before I change my mind!"

The man scrambled to his feet in a heartbeat, but instead of running off as Harry had expected, he stood there, staring at Harry uncertainly.

"What are you waiting for?" Harry snarled, his patience wearing thin.

"What... how are you preventing the Dark Lord from tracking you?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. Voldemort hadn't figured it out yet? Surely Lucius would know... But if not... "I'm not telling you anything."

"Well, whatever you're doing, don't stop. He's got a tracking spell on you, and if your shielding charm, or whatever it is, fails... even for a second... you're as good as dead."

Slowly, Harry nodded.

"Good," Wormtail said quietly. He glanced quickly over his shoulder, as though checking to see if someone was watching him, before turning back to Harry. His lips were drawn into a thin, nervous line. He took a deep breath. "Your father really would have been proud to see you, Harry. He was a great man. I wish I had been."

Before Harry could react, Wormtail-the-man disappeared, and a rat with one white paw scurried off into the underbrush.

Harry stood still, staring at the place where the rat's tail had last been seen disappearing under a leaf, when he was pulled from his daze by a pained moan.

"Draco!" Harry rushed to Draco and fell to his knees next to the boy's prone form. He tried to be gentle as he rolled Draco over onto his back.

Draco's hand was pressed to his temple, a trickle of blood oozing through his fingers, and his cheeks were drawn and sallow. He squinted up at Harry. "That really sucked."

"Are you all right?" Harry grabbed at Draco's hand, trying to get a good look at the gash.

Draco twisted and wrenched his hand away from Harry, keeping it pressed tight to his head. "Ducky, Potter," he snapped weakly. "Just bloody ducky."

"Can you stand up?" Harry asked in a rush. "We have to move before someone else comes."

Draco nodded and made a fast attempt to sit up, but halfway through the movement, a grimace of pain flashed across his face. He brought his hand to his forehead and dropped back to the ground with a pained moan.

"You're injured. Let me see it," Harry ordered. He made another attempt to grab Draco's hand, but Draco batted him away.

"Don't touch me!"

"Malfoy, I'm trying to help!"

"I don't want your help!" Draco held both of his hands tightly over the gash, and Harry was vaguely reminded of a tantrum Dudley had thrown when he'd fallen off his bicycle and scraped his knee on his ninth birthday. (Dudley had tossed the bicycle under the wheels of a passing lorry the next day.)

"You're whining."

Draco peeked out from under his hands as though suddenly realizing how stupid he looked. Dropping one hand to his side, but still keeping the gash covered, he attempted to regain his poise. "But I'm so good at it."

Harry scowled at him. "If you can't get up on your own, then you're going to let me help you so we can both get out of here."

Draco stared at Harry. "I hate needing help," he fussed.

"Then we're even," Harry said shortly.

Draco looked away, muttering something about déjà vu. With a sigh, he reluctantly held out his hand to Harry, keeping the other hand pressed against his temple.

Harry pulled him into a seated position, and he clutched his at ribs with a groan. "Damn," he said softly.

"Draco?"

"I can't believe I put you through that," he said, more to himself than Harry. "I had no idea... it was that awful..."

"It's history now, Malfoy. But we will be too if we don't leave now."

Draco nodded, and Harry pulled him to his feet, steadying him until he stopped teetering. As soon as Draco looked like he wasn't about to fall over, Harry released him. He nodded his approval to Draco, then glanced over his shoulder to where Crabbe was lying comatose on the ground. "What about him? We can't just leave him there like that."

Stumbling slightly, Draco rounded on Crabbe. His face was drawn, body trembling, but his jaw was set and his eyes flashed darkly. "We could. Or I could tie him up, _Crucio_ him, and kill him."

"Malfoy!" It wasn't the suggestion that startled Harry, but the sudden change in Draco's eyes, the look of pure hatred, an unrefined lust for death.

"That's what he did to us! What he would have done!" Draco cried, not taking his eyes from Crabbe. His hand went into his robe pocket, reaching for his wand. "He deserves it!"

Harry was more than inclined to agree with that assessment, and killing Crabbe would probably be the safest plan; however, some annoying part of him couldn't allow an attack on an unconscious man. He'd never before realised that his conscience was positioned around his spleen, but he was acutely aware of it now. Gritting his teeth against his better judgment, Harry placed his hand over Draco's, which was clenched tight around his wand, shaking.

"Don't, Malfoy."

"Are you mad?" Draco's eyes flashed at him dangerously. "He'll track us! He'll tell You-Know-Who where we went! And I would have thought you'd be happy to kill any Death Eater!"

Harry swallowed, knowing full well that he would be more than happy if he could just snap his fingers and watch every Death Eater fall to a painful death. But he shook his head. "Not... not like this, Malfoy."

"HE TORTURED ME!"

Harry steeled himself. "I know what that's like. Remember?"

Draco froze in place, the fury in his eyes replaced by shock and disgust. Slowly, Harry pushed down the tip of Draco's wand. Finally, Draco let his hand fall to his side and looked away, muttering, "Bloody Gryffindors."

"So then," Harry said, "what _will_ we do with him?"

Draco turned back towards Harry, a glint of a smirk returning to his defeated features. "Well, we could turn him into a slug."

"Or a ferret," Harry said slyly.

Draco glared. "Or not."

They quickly decided on a combination of _Petrificus Totalus_ and _Obliviate._ For good measure, Harry tied Crabbe's shoelaces together.

"They'll find him soon enough," Draco said solemnly as they walked away from the river. "Although I almost hope they leave him there to freeze."

"Are you sure the Memory Charm is strong enough?" Harry asked, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Potter, that's Crabbe. Pure-blooded, but brainless. Longbottom on a bad day could make that oaf forget his own name."

*********

As soon as they left the clearing, the sound of the river faded into the distance, and all conversation faded with it. Harry seemed content with the neutral silence, but for Draco, it was like reaching the hard stop at the bottom of a long, terrifying fall. After the yelling, the pain, and the sheer violence of the encounter with Crabbe and Wormtail, the abrupt stillness was strange and discordant in Draco's mind. As long as he'd kept talking, as long as he was purely angry, he had been able to keep himself distracted. But now, his brain was running in thunderous circles, and there was nothing to muffle it.

He wanted to break the silence, he couldn't bring himself to do it now that it had already set in. He was too nervous, and watching and listening for any signs of pursuit. If he made any noise, he might miss evidence of an impending attack until it was too late. As he walked behind Harry, he checked back over his shoulder every few feet. Each time he heard a leaf rustle, felt the wind shift, or saw a branch move, his heart would freeze, and he'd expect to see his father jump out from behind a tree at any second.

Lucius, _his father_ , was somewhere in the woods, hunting him like an animal.

If he'd thought his decision through to the logical conclusion, he wouldn't have been surprised, but he hadn't stopped to think. There had been no time. Decisions had been made, and it was too late. He'd seen the anger in his father's eyes, heard it in his voice, but he knew his father well enough to recognize the other emotions there, things which anyone else would have missed. The disappointment, the _shame_.

He didn't want to think about his father any longer. He was miserable enough without that added stress.

Everything hurt. His head was throbbing mercilessly, and his stomach was doing a contortionist act. He was pretty sure he had no broken ribs, but they were definitely bruised. But he wasn't going to be weak. And he _certainly_ wasn't going to complain to Potter. He'd deal with the bruises later. At least his father wasn't there to chastise him, to tell him that he looked like a common servant all bruised and filthy.

No, he wasn't going to think about his father.

He should be grateful, really. He could have been captured, returned to Voldemort's dungeon to await his punishment. Although he had never witnessed much first-hand, Draco had heard enough stories to know just what atrocities Death Eaters were capable of inflicting. Crabbe's punishment had been bad enough, and would have been a lot worse had it not been cut short.

Which made him wonder why it _had_ been cut short.

Harry pulled a branch out of the way, and then held it to let Draco through without being lashed. Draco grabbed the branch himself with a quiet, "Thank you."

Harry nodded in reply, and trudged on.

Draco hesitated for just a moment, but the silence had finally been broken. "So what the hell just happened?"

Harry held up and glanced back at him. "What?"

"Tell me why I'm not dead yet. How the hell did we just get out of that mess? We should have been dragged back to the fortress. You should be back in a cage again, and I should already be gilled, gutted, and left for scavengers."

Stone-faced, Harry nodded. "Yes, we should be." He seemed intent on avoiding the subject.

"So then, why aren't we? More heroism, courtesy of Harry Potter, Boy Wonder?"

Harry stood still for a moment before he leaned against a tree, fatigue showing in every movement. "No, it was Wormtail. He let us go."

Draco's eyes went wide. "What? He's practically married to You-Know-Who! Attached at the hip! He'd never!" The outburst caused a pain to shoot through his side, and he clutched loosely at his ribs and coughed twice.

"All right, Malfoy?"

Draco glared at him. He did _not_ want sympathy, so he bypassed the question. "Wormtail is the worst grovelling piece of slime in the bunch. He would never betray the Dark Lord."

"Well, he did."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why?"

Harry chewed on his lower lip for a moment, and then sighed resignedly. "He owed me a life-debt."

"A life... Potter, please tell me how the hell you managed to earn a life-debt from the Dark Lord's right-hand man?"

Harry blew a slow breath between his lips, before replying shortly, "Just chalk that up as one of the many mysterious wonders of me being Harry Potter, Boy Wonder. In other words, you don't want to know."

"Well then, have it your way." As he said it, Draco mentally slapped himself. He absolutely did want to know!

Harry shrugged. "Good. Ridiculous story anyway."

Draco mentally slapped himself again and grimaced.

Harry leaned forward from the tree, and his eyebrows knitted together. "Are you sure you're all right? Do you need to stop for a minute?"

At the mere suggestion, Draco's curiosity was forgotten, and he felt a wave of panic slam into his already-abused chest.

"NO! We haven't gone far enough yet!" He looked back over his right shoulder, then his left, mentally conjuring images of robed Death Eaters, stepping from behind trees, surrounding him, and his father leading them all, wand outstretched…

Harry was regarding him very oddly. Suspiciously, even.

Draco took a deep breath, trying for force the appearance of being calm, collected, and in control. A _Malfoy._ "No, Potter, we are not stopping now. We'll stop for lunch if you need to in a couple of hours."

Harry scowled at him.

In his shoes, Draco could feel his bare toes curling and uncurling nervously, desperate to be moving again. He gritted his teeth. "Come on, let's go." With a sweep of his arm, he gestured forward. "Ladies first."

Rolling his eyes with an exasperated huff, Harry struck out again, setting a pace just a bit more rapid than before.

As soon as Harry's eyes were off him, Draco felt his pent-up nerves and stress warp his face, causing a trace of moisture to squeeze from the corners of his eyes. He stuffed his hands into his pockets sullenly and took off after Harry.

In one of his pockets, his fingers found a rolled-up wad of wool: the sock Harry had given him.

He hadn't lost it.

But it was wet.

Draco followed Harry northwest for a ways, then they doubled back on their own trail at Harry's insistence (to confuse the dogs, he said), before finally moving southwest again. They came to a small stream and followed it for ten minutes before breaking off and assuming a southerly route.

Draco lost track of time, but the day progressed regardless. The fog burnt off, leaving a clear blue sky peeking through the dense forest canopy. His hair and robes dried, but the mud that hadn't been washed away by the river was still caked on his cheeks and in his hair.

_Great, not only do I feel like shit, but I'm covered with the stuff as well._

He tried a few Cleaning Charms, but they were inexpertly placed, as most of his energy was being spent on keeping up with Harry, and his head hurt too much to focus properly for magic.

Eventually, Harry's pace slowed, which was a mixed blessing for Draco. He felt like hell, and he wasn't accustomed to nearly so much physical exertion. He also didn't like the idea that a half-starved Harry Potter could outpace him under any conditions. However, the speed and rough terrain had been an excellent distraction from his thoughts, and as the pace became more leisurely, his mind began to run rampant again.

Was his father still stalking him? It had been at least a couple of hours since they'd seen anyone, Draco reasoned with himself, but he couldn't keep from glancing back over his shoulder again. What was going on in the woods around him? Had they found Crabbe? Where was Wormtail? Had somebody reported back to the Dark Lord yet? Had Biddy managed to get a message to Dumbledore? What were they thinking back at Hogwarts? Had Dumbledore sent anyone to find them? Was the Dark Lord going to try another way to find them?

_That's a stupid question. Voldemort doesn't give up so easily._

That thought, and the attached sense of inevitability assaulted Draco with another wave of nausea, and he was certain that his mental torment was more painful than his physical injuries. He was off-balance, off-centre, and just ahead of him was Harry, marching stoically onwards.

Draco mentally berated himself for his own weakness. A bump on the head and a few seconds of the Cruciatus, and all he wanted to do was curl up on the ground and wish for the whole world to go away. And he didn't even have the courage to do that, because he was too afraid to stop. If he stopped, his father would get him. He'd been through so much, he told himself, reasoning away the neurosis. He had a right to be traumatized.

But what had Harry gone through in the past week? Draco bit his tongue, stifling the guilty awareness that if he'd been in Harry's situation, he'd be a hopeless wreck by now.

_I'm a wreck anyway._

Draco watched sullenly as Harry easily scrambled over a huge fallen log. Not to be outdone, Draco sized up the tree trunk. It wasn't particularly rational, but rationality wasn't high on Draco's list of priorities just then. He gritted his teeth, took a short running start, jumped, and side-vaulted the oversized log.

Almost.

His hand slipped on the moss, his foot caught on the trunk, and before he knew it, he had landed with a ' _whuf!'_ flat on his back, in a most inelegant heap on the ground.

"Malfoy! Are you all right?" Harry was beside him in an instant. "What were you doing?"

"I'm admiring the sky. Such a pleasant shade of blue, don't you think so?"

"Er... Malfoy?"

"You ought to try it. Very relaxing."

"Maybe that head injury is beginning to get to you. Do you think –"

"Potter!" Draco snapped indignantly. "If you inquire about my physical welfare even once more, I swear on Merlin's beard, I will stun you, tie you up, and hang you upside down from the nearest tree."

Harry paused for a second. "Hmmm… I didn't know you were into bondage, but if you insist."

The effect was instantaneous. Draco choked on his own breath and sat up in a rush, sputtering. Just as quickly, he clutched his bruised ribs with a whimper. He tried to stifle the effect of the pain, and quickly covered his grimace with a glare. "That wasn't funny."

"It got you to sit up though," Harry said, looking deceptively innocent.

"Yeah, sure. Just don't ever say that again."

Harry shrugged. "Perhaps we really ought to stop and rest."

"No!" Draco exclaimed, just a bit too quickly, causing Harry to look at him questioningly. Draco took a breath and cleared his throat. "No, we can't stop here, not yet. We're still too close, and they could catch up with us."

"But we haven't seen any sign of them in almost three hours."

"I don't care!" Draco's voice was rising in pitch with each word. He scrambled to his feet. "They could be anywhere! And if you don't need to stop and rest, _I_ don't need to stop either!"

"Malfoy…"

"And I don't need some heroic speech from the Boy-Wonder himself. I've heard enough of those already!"

"Malfoy…"

"You're Mr. Perfect himself! Throws off the Imperius Curse, bounces right back after the Cruciatus, gets himself into staring contests with You-Know-Who and _lives!_ "

"MALFOY!"

"And STOP CALLING ME THAT!"

Draco stood there, chest heaving with emotion, staring at Harry's stunned face, and realized what he'd just said. His mouth hung open, trying to excuse the piece of stupidity he'd just uttered, but before he could, Harry's expression darkened.

Harry nodded his head once. "Fine." And then he stormed off, crashing loudly through the underbrush.

Panic quickly gripped Draco again; he was being left behind. He ran to catch up to Harry.

"Wait! Potter, slow down!"

"You wanted to keep moving," Harry said angrily as he swatted a branch aside. It sprung back and hit Draco in the chest. "So that's what we're doing. And we'll just keep on going until one of us bloody well collapses."

Draco untangled himself from the branch. "That's not what I meant!"

"Then what did you mean, _Malfoy?_ " Harry spat at him without looking back.

Draco cringed at the harsh use of his surname; his _father's_ name. "I mean… I meant…" Draco had no intention of admitting his nearly debilitating fear of his father. "I'm sorry."

"Uh-huh," Harry said dryly.

Harry hadn't turned around, and he hadn't stopped, but he was no longer tearing through the woods like a stampeding centaur.

Draco took an uneasy breath. "I mean, how do you do it, Potter?"

Harry finally stopped. "Do what?"

The subject had been breached; there was no avoiding it. "Just… keep going like that. Did someone put a perpetual motion charm on you when you were a kid?"

This time, Harry turned around, and his expression was cold. "Yeah," he said bluntly, "and I've still got the scar from it."

Draco hung his head, not wanting to face Harry's trademark glare. He muttered under his breath.

"I didn't hear you."

Draco didn't look up, but he spoke more clearly. "I… I guess I'm still just a bit shaken by… by all that."

A few seconds of silence passed, and when Harry spoke again, his voice was softer. "Really, Malfoy, we haven't seen anyone in hours. I think… I think Wormtail might still be watching our back, keeping an eye out for us. If I die on his watch, then his life-debt isn't filled, if I understand anything about this stuff. I hate thinking that we couldn't have escaped without him, but for now, I think we're safe. If you're tired, we can stop."

Draco felt a hot flush of embarrassment across his cheeks. "I don't need you to patronize me, Potter."

"I'm not fucking patronizing you, Malfoy! If it makes you feel any better, I should tell you that I'm NOT under a 'perpetual motion charm.' I'm dead tired, and I want to stop too!"

"Oh."

"And when I suggested it, you went into a complete panic -"

"Hey!"

"- and insisted that we keep going."

"I'm not tired," Draco said, knowing full-well that he was being completely irrational.

Harry folded his arms across his chest. "So, I suppose the only match for Gryffindor stupidity is Slytherin idiocy."

Before Draco could react, Harry grabbed his wrist and sat down, pulling Draco to the ground in a most undignified twist.

"Watch it!" Draco protested.

Harry ignored him. "Pass me the water flask. What was that charm you used to refill it?"

" _Aqualis,_ " Draco said absently.

Harry drew out his wand and quickly repeated the charm. "Piece of fruit?"

Not wanting to see or smell food, Draco looped the sack from over his shoulder and passed the whole thing to Harry. He looked away, scanning the forest nervously for any signs of their pursuers until the food sack landed back in his lap.

"You should eat something too."

"I'm not hungry."

"If you don't eat, you won't be able to move. If you don't move, they'll catch you."

Harry's tone left no room for argument, and his reasoning was very effective, hitting with dread accuracy a particularly sensitive nerve. Draco dug into the sack, pulled out a biscuit and an apple, and began half-heartedly nibbling the biscuit. After a moment, Harry passed him the water flask. He refilled it, and as he drank, Draco realized just how thirsty he'd become.

The day was becoming warm, and in his thick black cloak, sitting in the sun, he was positively toasty. He shrugged off the cloak, draped it across his lap, and leaned back against a narrow tree. Not exactly comfortable, but it was enough. The forest was so quiet, and he was so tired. Draco's eyelids began to droop, all thoughts of food completely forgotten. His head was still throbbing dully, but even that ache began to fade away as the warmth soaked into his abused muscles.

He was drifting off when something shook him.

"Malfoy?"

Draco jerked awake with a start, shocked that he'd even let himself fall asleep. "Potter! Don't do that!"

Harry was leaning over him, studying his eyes. He held up one finger in front of Draco's face. "Malfoy, don't argue for a moment, but follow my finger with your eyes."

Too surprised by the unusual command to protest, Draco tried to follow as Harry's hand danced in front of his face: up, left, right, left, circle, down, up. The motion made him dizzy, and he closed his eyes and clutched his stomach. When he opened his eyes again, Harry was sitting back, looking at him sceptically.

"What was that all about, Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "Did you get _any_ sleep last night?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Well, let's see. You're stressed, you're irritable, you're pale – more so than usual – so I was just wondering."

Draco sat up a little straighter against his tree. "I got a bit of sleep. I was trying to keep a watch out. So what the hell were you doing, waving your finger around in front of my face?"

"Oh, that." Harry suddenly looked apologetic. "I think you've got a concussion."

Draco grumbled. "Great. _Now_ who's the bloody Mediwizard?"

Harry mimed tipping an imaginary hat and clicked his tongue.

"I hate you, Potter."

"You're welcome, Malfoy."

Reflexively, Draco cringed again. It was subtle, but when Harry's expression became solemn again, Draco knew it had shown. Harry started to ask a question, but Draco cut him off.

"We have to start moving again." Draco hauled himself to his feet, using the tree for leverage. As soon as he stood, he started to feel his headache returning with a vengeance, but he ignored it as best he could. "We're still too close to the fortress, and even with that rat helping us, assuming that he is, we need to put some more distance behind us."

He looked down at Harry, and Harry nodded in concession. Draco used a quick charm to shrink his cloak, and then tucked the cloth into one of the outer pockets of the food sack. He was stuffing his apple into a pocket for later when his fingers brushed against the rolled-up sock. A small grin tugged at his lips.

"One thing first."

"Oh?" Harry asked as he stood.

Without a word, Draco pulled out the sock, used a quick drying charm on it, and kicked off his shoe. He repeated the drying charm on his other foot. A moment later, his feet were delightfully warm and dry for the first time in hours. "Much better."

He flashed an easy grin at Harry, hoping to glaze over the issues that seemed to keep stacking up, but Harry was still searching him with that piercing stare. There would be questions later, and Draco could feel an unavoidable discussion brewing. His smile faded; it had been paper-thin anyway.

"Come on, Potter."

*********

They continued their southerly journey through most of the afternoon with no signs of pursuit. Every step further away from the fortress was a step closer to safety, Draco kept reminding himself. A step further from his father; from the Dark Lord. The terror that had been brewing just beneath Draco's surface, boiling over at the slightest upset, finally began to subside. Nerves that had been strung like a tightrope finally began to slacken; still present, ready to tense at a moment's notice, but finally the adrenaline began to run dry.

And the pure exhaustion began to wear on him.

Draco hated to admit it, but Harry was probably right about the state of his injuries, and the effects of his sleep-deprivation. His headache had faded to a mild thrum, annoying, but easy enough to ignore. He was certain that Harry must be tired and sore as well, but it didn't show very much, to Draco's chagrin. Harry's shoulders were straight as he walked, and his feet didn't keep catching on branches like Draco's did. At least, that was how it seemed to Draco. It would have been terribly embarrassing, if Draco had had enough energy left to be embarrassed. Still, Harry had set as comfortable a pace as possible, and Draco followed along, too tired to do anything else.

As they walked, conversation was simple, for which Draco's aching head was immensely grateful.

_"Will the food last long enough?" "Not with the way you eat, Potter." "Maybe we can fish for river trout?" "Fishing? You mean catch food ourselves? From a river? That's disgusting." "Don't worry, we don't have a fishing pole anyway." "What if the weather turns foul? We don't have anything to keep the rain off." "Do you know the Impervius Charm? I used it to keep my glasses dry during Quidditch matches in the rain. Hermione taught it to me." "How immensely clever. How are your Warming Charms?" "Pretty good, actually. I can transfigure a blanket, too." "Heh, we could have used that last night." "What?" "Never mind. Can you make a pillow?" "I can try." "Have you ever gone camping?" "No. Even if they did camp, the Dursleys would never have taken me, unless it was to leave me behind for predators. What about you?"_

The afternoon had remained surprisingly pleasant. Some clouds were beginning to roll in for the evening, and the slowly sinking sun was sculpting the clouds with contrasts of light and shadow. It was so peaceful that Draco could almost let himself forget just how dire his situation really was.

Each time they paused for water, Draco made Harry stay perfectly silent for a moment to listen for signs of human life, but there was still nothing. Draco knew he should be pleased by this, but the silence was eerie. On one of these stops, at about five o'clock by Draco's estimate, they had halted on the edge of a large clearing before circumnavigating it. There was nothing but the sound of the breeze rusting the treetops, stirring the tall grasses of the field. Not a single animal, no human voice.

"We're really alone," Draco whispered.

Next to him, Harry nodded, handed back the water flask, and pressed onwards.

The motion of one foot in front of the other became so automatic that it took Draco completely by surprise when Harry suddenly stopped in the middle of a thicket-like clearing.

"This is good," Harry said.

Before Draco could ask exactly what it was good for, Harry had flopped contentedly to the ground, spread-eagled, gazing up at the small patch of sky visible through the trees.

"Comfortable, Potter?" Draco asked as he settled himself against the base of a tree.

Harry pursed his lips. "It's a far cry from my four-poster at Hogwarts, but it's got more leg space than my cupboard, so I'll give it three stars."

Draco laughed lightly at the comment, before wondering what Harry had actually meant. "Cupboard?"

Harry quickly sat up, his expression guarded. "It's nothing. Pass me a piece of fruit, will you?"

Draco rolled his eyes as he handed the food sack over to Harry. It was amazing, Draco mused, the way Harry wore his heart on his sleeve, yet never really revealed anything. "Is food your answer to everything, Potter?"

"Yes," Harry said before sinking his teeth into a large yellow quince. "Did Biddy pack any oatmeal raisin biscuits?" he asked around the mouthful.

"I didn't see any," Draco said flatly.

"Never mind, I've found some chocolate ones."

"Potter, you're –"

Harry interrupted him by holding out a large biscuit, and Draco caught a whiff of chocolate. "Would you like one?" he asked innocently.

Something about the image of Harry sitting there with his legs sticking out straight, offering him a biscuit, struck Draco as funny. A grin spread itself across his face without his permission, making his cheeks hurt, as he reached out and accepted Harry's offering.

He had barely taken a bite, however, when Harry broached the conversation Draco had felt approaching all day. The conversation he didn't want to have.

"So, what happened today?"

The soft bite of biscuit suddenly turned to sawdust in Draco's mouth, and it was all he could do to swallow it down his strangely dry throat. Harry was looking at him intently, and Draco felt himself trying to shrink away under the scrutiny. The nerves that had finally started to settle snapped alert, and Draco's headache returned as though it had been Summoned.

"You know what happened," Draco said flatly. "You were there."

"I saw what happened. I want to know why it happened. Why you panicked like that."

"I don't want to talk about this."

" _Malfoy_."

Draco couldn't suppress the shudder that rippled up his back at the combination of Harry's harsh tone of voice and that name, his _father's_ name. His mouth fell open slightly, furious that the thought of his father was causing what little composure he had left to crumble.

"Not now, Potter," Draco heard himself saying. "Please, not now."

Harry sighed, then shuffled around, and finally lay forward on his stomach, propping his chin on his hands. He looked much less threatening that way, as though the motion had closed the gap between them without actually pressing into Draco's personal space. "Listen, Malfoy…"

Draco flinched again. "What?"

"I want to know what happened," Harry said softly.

"And what if I don't want to tell you?"

Harry tipped his head sideways, considering this. "Then don't."

Draco hadn't expected that. He'd assumed Harry would keep pushing him, just as he had back in the cell. He was surprised to find that he actually _wanted_ Harry to keep pushing, but at the same time, he didn't want to go where this conversation was leading. "But –"

"You can keep it all to yourself."

"Wait a minute – "

"And I'll just watch as it rips you apart, like it has all day."

Draco held up his hands in dismay. "What is it you want to know?"

"Your father." It wasn't a question, and that note of certainty scared Draco.

"What about him?" Draco struggled to keep his voice even.

"He's what made you panic like that."

"Potter, this is none of your business."

"He's not going to get you."

Draco's composure was already gone; all he had left to lose was his temper. "I don't want to hear this, Potter," he growled.

But Harry carried on as though he hadn't even heard him. "And you don't have to be scared of him."

That was the last straw. Draco's eyes flashed and his defences flared furiously. "You fucking bastard."

Harry seemed stunned by this odd reaction. His hands left his chin and planted onto the ground, pushing his torso up like a snake rearing. "What?

"You don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about!"

Harry seemed stunned by Draco's sudden vehemence, which was fine, because Draco didn't much feel like stopping. Words and thoughts spilled from him, fast and furious.

"You and your pretentious dribble! You don't know anything! I am NOT scared of my father! He's my _father_! He loves me! He only wanted the best for me, he did! It's my fault he's angry; he should be angry. He gave me everything, and I threw it all away!"

Draco could feel the hot sting behind his eyes, and he blinked it back furiously.

"Malfoy, you can't possibly think –"

"I CAN AND I DO! I may not be too thrilled with You-Know-Who, but that has nothing to do with my father! I deserted the Dark Lord, NOT MY DAD! And he does love me… he was proud of me. He said so. He was so proud of me."

Draco's palms began to feel the sharp bite of his fingernails, but he didn't dare ease his tightly clenched fists. The pain was good. If he let go of that, he'd let go of everything. Assuming he hadn't already.

Incredulity and confusion played across Harry's slack-jawed face for a moment, before he stammered out, "How can you… Malfoy, he was going to hand you over to Voldemort on a silver platter! Didn't you hear him –"

"Yes, I heard him! I heard how disappointed he was with me! You don't know my father, _Potter._ _You_ can't possibly understand it, _you_ couldn't have heard it, but I did!"

Harry was now up on his knees, taking a decidedly offensive stance. "I heard enough! I heard him call you a traitor!"

"THAT WAS GOYLE, you bastard! And you know what? He was right! And my father knows it, but he'd never say it. He still loves me –"

Harry's voice was low and angry, undercutting Draco's. "He locked you in a dungeon when you were eleven, he sent you to Voldemort, he –"

"SHUT UP! He did it all for me! FOR ME! Just because you never had parents around who cared about you –"

" _HOW DARE YOU!_ "

Harry was on his feet in a flash, glaring down at Draco with a vehemence he'd only seen once before. "My parents died for me, protecting me from Voldemort. Your father would kill you for Voldemort. Think about that, why don't you? _"_

Draco's chest was heaving, shooting pain through his ribs to match his throbbing head, but the sight of Harry's retreating back startled him. The sudden silence was startling, save for the leaves and branches crunching under Harry's feet. Draco felt the terrifying sense of being alone pressing in on him; without Harry, he'd never make it.

"Wait… Harry."

Harry whirled around, already a good distance away. "What, _Malfoy_?"

Draco cringed. "Come back. If you go much further away, the charm won't protect you. You… You-Know-Who would find you immediately."

"You don't care."

Draco slowly closed and reopened his eyes. "Yes, I do."

Harry considered this for a moment; then his shoulders slumped. He walked back, looking every bit like a sullen child, and plopped himself down a few feet away from Draco, staring at the ground. "We can't work like this."

"Say again?"

"We're not going to be able to get on like this, survive the trip back to Hogwarts, if we can't even have a civil conversation."

It was everything Draco could do not to speak through gritted teeth. "Well, Potter, think about what you just said to me. Not exactly conducive to pleasant chit-chat."

"You know it needed to be said, as much as I do." Harry looked up finally. "If we're going to get along, that is."

"But it's so easy to fight. Especially over… stuff like that. Old habits die hard."

"They do," Harry said noncommittally.

Draco surveyed Harry for a long moment, then swallowed. "Listen, Potter… something I said earlier… and I'm not so sure I meant to say it at the time… but I think I did…"

"Malfoy, can you please just get to the point?"

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. "That's just it. Don't call me that." He heard the leaves next to him rustle as Harry shifted position.

"I was wondering about that. What the hell were you talking about?"

"It's just… that's my father's name. I just don't want to keep hearing his name. Because every time I hear it, it…" Draco swallowed. He couldn't admit he was scared. He knew it was true, and he knew he'd deny it to his dying day. Whenever that might be. In the meantime, he needed Harry to drop the topic.

"It makes me think of how I didn't live up to it," he said finally, which was true enough. "That doesn't make much sense, does it?" He opened his eyes again, and Harry was regarding him carefully.

"No, it makes some sense, I suppose. So just what the hell am I supposed to call you?"

At that, Draco actually cracked a smile. "Oh, there are the basics. Try git, prat, arsehole, bastard. And then, I'm sure you can be creative."

"No problem, ferret-face."

Draco brought his hand to his forehead and rubbed his temples. "Save it for later."

"Sure, I suppose." Harry squirmed uncomfortably, as though he wasn't certain what to do with the unexpected ceasefire.

"One thing though, Potter, and I mean this." The muscles around Draco's jaw tensed. "Don't you insult my father. Not now, not ever. And don't think I won't fight you for that. He may not be perfect, like you think your father was, but he's still my dad."

Harry's neutral face fell. "Believe me, Malfoy, I don't think my father was perfect. I keep finding out, the hard way, that nobody's perfect."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Neither are you."

"I know," Harry whispered.

The silence hung heavily for a long moment before Harry finally broke it again with a cough. "I had another thing to ask you, actually. If you're up to it, that is."

Draco sighed and settled back against the tree. "Go on, Potter." He glanced up at the last traces of the sun sinking behind the trees and the far hills. "This day was just custom-made to torment me, and the day isn't quite over. Might as well get it all out of the way now."

Harry wasted no time. "What happened the night you went to meet with Voldemort?"

"I've changed my mind," Draco said quickly. "The day's almost over, and I've had enough."

Harry shook his head. "That was when you made up your mind to leave… while you were up there, with Voldemort. That's when you decided to defect. And I still want to know why."

"How could you know? That _that_ was when I decided? When I came back down, I had to… and you wouldn't speak to me, and –"

Harry held up a hand. "You're right, at the time, I couldn't think about it clearly, but I listened to your explanation of why you had to use the curse, and then I saw the expression on your face when you mentioned your meeting with Voldemort… well… I put two and two together."

"And the sum of your brilliant equation?"

"Something happened up there."

Draco had to bite his tongue to resist responding with an emphatic _DUH._ Instead, he slapped his forehead lightly with his hand. "Sure. I met with his royal snakeliness. We had tea and crumpets, then we played a game of croquet in the garden. He didn't like losing, and I didn't like his attitude."

"Draco, please."

Draco sighed and thudded his head backwards against the tree, which only caused his head to throb again. He winced and closed his eyes, then slowly brought his hand up to the base of his throat. He could feel Harry's eyes on him the whole time.

"It was just like you said," Draco whispered slowly. "Exactly like you said. I don't know how you knew, but the fact that you were so dead-on the mark still scares me."

"I didn't know anything, really, I mean –"

"Don't play the humble hero, Potter. I saw enough of that bullshit in the media. Whatever your reasons for building up some horror story about You-Know-Who, you were still right about him. About me. Being used."

He swallowed, feeling the rise and fall of his throat before letting his hand drop away, exposing the healing wound there. He glanced at Harry. "You're obnoxious, you know that, Potter?"

"I do my best." He pointed towards the base of Draco's neck. "He did that to you, didn't he?"

"Not exactly."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco twisted his lower lip pensively. "It was a sort of test, to see if I would do anything asked of me, unquestioningly." Draco's breath caught, and his voice started to waver. "He… he held the dagger, and told me… told me to…"

In Draco's mind, he was no longer sitting in the forest with Harry, but kneeling in the room at the top of the tower, with Voldemort standing in front of him. The stones of the floor were cold and hard and they dug painfully into his knees, and at the base of his throat, the sharp bite of steel was beginning to take purchase in his skin. Everything was a haze, pressing in on him, making it hard to breathe. He was shaking, and Voldemort's eyes were piercing into him as surely as the dagger as he began to lean forward…

"Draco!"

Hands were shaking him, and the haze cleared to reveal Harry's face hovering a few inches from his face.

"Wha… huh… Harry?"

Harry leaned back and sat on his feet. He was scowling, but Draco knew the scowl wasn't directed at him. "Flashback?"

"I… I think so." Draco could feel the cold sweat dripping down his back, as though it had been far more than a figment of his tormented imagination. "But… that… it was like I was really there. That wasn't really a flashback. Not a normal one."

Harry sighed and shifted, folding his legs in front of himself. "Voldemort plays mind-games, Draco. I know that all too well. You let him mark you, and he probably burned that memory into you, just to let you know who's boss."

Draco shuddered at the thought. "Marked me," he whispered, his hand going to his throat automatically. "I don't like that."

"Heh, neither do I," Harry said dryly.

"I don't like any of this."

"Welcome to my world."

Draco shivered, only partially from the cool breezes of the evening starting to flow beneath the trees. He fell silent for a moment, trying to calm his mind. He felt as though he'd had several deep, half-healed wounds viciously reopened, and now he was waiting for the bleeding to stop again.

He'd seen too much blood recently.

And too much fighting. "You were right about one other thing, as much as I loathe to admit it," Draco said suddenly.

"Oh? What's that?"

"We really ought to stop fighting."

Harry gave a short laugh. "I think this is my world turned upside down. But yeah, if we want to make it back to Hogwarts alive," he said, a hint of a smile creeping back into his voice, "it would probably be best if we didn't kill each other on the way."

_If we want to make it to Hogwarts alive._

Draco nodded to Harry as he glanced up at the sky through the thick foliage overhead, at the scant streaks of colour piercing through the thickening cast of clouds. The first full day of travel, and Draco didn't even know how far they'd really gone.

Silently, Draco reached into his pocket and withdrew the stick nestled there alongside his wand. With a deft flick of his dagger, he left a second notch in the wood, just an inch from the first one. He felt Harry's eyes on him, and without looking up, answered the unspoken question.

"Just counting the days," he said as he slid the dagger back into its sheath. He neglected to add that it was a countdown.

How far did they really have to travel? How fast? Was it even possible to reach Hogwarts in two weeks, and if it was, could anything be done to save Harry once they reached safety?

_Safety._ Draco silently cursed the word. Was there any such thing anymore? How far would they have to go to exceed Voldemort's grasp? Or was such a thing even possible?

"Harry… I know you would sometimes…" He paused, deliberating over his words. He didn't want to offend Harry, not this time, nor did he want to arouse suspicion. "You used to have sorts of fits, or something, with your scar. I was wondering…"

Harry, who had already begun munching on his quince again, swallowed quickly. "Just say it already, would you?"

"How far away from You-Know-Who do you have to be to get away from all that?" Draco asked in a rush. "You said last night, while we were running, that the closer you were, the more it hurt. Do you ever… get far enough away?"

The corner of Harry's mouth pulled up, but it wasn't a smile. "I think that if he's really determined, the distance is immaterial, as far as my scar is concerned. But I've dealt with it before; it won't kill me."

"No, I guess not," Draco whispered hoarsely. "You know, it was bleeding last night, your scar, that is."

At this, Harry's eyes widened slightly. "I don't think that's ever happened before, but then, he must have been pretty furious. Not much we can do about that now." He paused to settle himself against a tree, facing Draco. "Voldemort can cause a lot of trouble from a distance. Besides being a Legilimens, I'm sure he's got plenty of other nasty tricks up his sleeve, but as long as he can't physically _find_ us, we should be okay."

"Yeah," Draco whispered, even more quietly than before.

"Are _you_ okay, Draco?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Just a bit tired, and my head still hurts."

Harry frowned at him. "You should eat something, then get some sleep."

"Still thinking with your stomach?"

"Hey, you try the three-day dungeon starvation diet, and you'll be doing the same thing."

"Thanks, but no thanks." A deep yawn split his face.

Harry smiled at him. "Shall I transfigure you a blanket and pillow?"

"No, just a teddy bear," Draco said offhandedly as he dug into the side pouch of the sack for his cloak. He had just finished removing the Shrinking Charm and was wrapping it around his shoulders when a something soft landed in his lap. He picked it up and squinted at it in the diminishing light. "Potter, this is the ugliest teddy bear I've ever seen."

"Well, I modelled it on Pansy Parkinson. I figured a small taste of home ought to –"

Harry was abruptly interrupted by an ugly stuffed toy bouncing off his head. He caught it with a grin. "You should have been a Chaser, Draco. You've got great aim."

"Goodnight, Potter."

"I'm going to wake you up in a couple of hours, by the way."

Draco spoke as he searched for a comfortable position against the tree. "Two questions, Potter. First, aren't you going to sleep? And second, why the hell are you going to wake me up?"

"Well, first, no, not right now. I'm still hungry –"

Draco snorted and rolled his eyes.

"– and I don't much feel like sleeping yet. I've had plenty of sleep over the past several days, not that I had much else to do. Plus, I've got a few things on my mind."

"That's understandable," Draco conceded.

"Second, I'm waking you up to make sure that concussion isn't causing problems. I got myself a Muggle first-aid manual over the summer, and that's what it said to do for concussions. I figured that considering all the times my friends or I have been injured, that kind of knowledge would come in pretty handy eventually." He sighed, suddenly sounding very tired.

"I did a lot of preparing this past summer, actually, and a lot of thinking," Harry said, seeming to be talking more to himself than to Draco. "There wasn't much else I could do while I was stuck at my aunt and uncle's place. At least they left me alone for a change, and I decided to use the time to make myself as ready as I could be for… whatever I'd need to be ready for. I was sick of not being ready, of always relying on other people's stupidity. Some people almost got killed because of that. Other people did die."

Harry fell silent, and Draco decided that it was best to leave him alone with his thoughts. His own head hurt, and sleep had been calling him for hours, nerves be damned. He was too tired to care that he was still a filthy mess, but he did make a mental note to use some proper Cleaning Charms in the morning. As he was pulling his cloak up to his chin and closing his eyes, something soft bounced against his leg.

He opened one eye and peeked down.

Harry had tossed the teddy bear back over to him. With an inward chuckle, he reached down under his cloak, picked up the bear, and tucked the hideous thing under his arm.

*********

Draco was sure he'd fallen asleep, and the surreal sensations of everything around him agreed with that assessment, but something told him that he was as awake as he'd ever been.

He was surrounded by a darkness so thick he could feel it pressing in on him. The blackness was a solid thing, and it filled his eyes, nose, and throat, compressing his lungs and stifling him. He tried to suck in a deep breath, and while he knew that somewhere, in his body, he was breathing, his present awareness told him there wasn't any air for him to breathe.

He fought back panic and tried to assess his situation. Some instinct told him that he was in a very large space, but the darkness made that irrelevant. When he tried to call out, even his voice was swallowed immediately by the vacuum. Beneath him, he was certain there was a floor of some sort, but when he tried to reach down; his hands never came into contact with anything, not even his own feet.

The terror finally overwhelmed him. Screaming into the silence, he tried to run with legs he didn't have, crying tears he couldn't feel, desperate to escape the blackness. But after running for an unknown length of time, he was still trapped in the middle of the void.

He was crumbling to knees he didn't have when a harsh, high laugh echoed all around him.

He recognized that laugh.

_Voldemort._

Hidden by the darkness, Draco knew he was on naked display for the Dark Lord, and there was nothing he could do. Trapped.

" _Young traitor_ ," the voice rumbled all around him. " _Did you honestly think you could escape the great Lord Voldemort?"_

Draco turned frantically in place (or he thought he was turning), automatically searching for the source of the voice.

" _Fool. Such a fool. And all for nothing."_

"No," Draco whispered silently. "Oh no…"

_"Ah, then you know already that it is too late for Potter. I do not know if that makes you more or less foolish."_

Draco's voice was frozen in his throat, not that it mattered.

_"I am feeling… generous towards you, Malfoy. Not many in your position would find themselves so fortunate, but your name and your previous accomplishments have earned you a chance. ONE CHANCE."_

There was a low, rumbling laugh, and Draco wasn't so sure he wanted to hear the proposition. His mind was spinning, and the total lack of visual references was making him nauseous.

_"Return Potter to me, Malfoy, and I will spare your life. If you accept your punishments with dignity, you may even regain some favour. Let it not be said that Lord Voldemort is not gracious. However, should you continue on your fool's errand, you will die a fool's death."_

Draco's heart pounded painfully in his chest, and he opened and closed his mouth in wordless, soundless syllables, desperately trying to breathe.

_"You can not save him, Malfoy. But you could save yourself. A true Slytherin knows the art of self-preservation. Consider this carefully."_

The line between Voldemort's booming voice and Draco's own thoughts began to blur. It was all pounding into his head, echoing, thundering. In confusion and shock, Draco slammed his hands over his ears, desperate to block it out, but the sounds were already in his head, spinning in circles, making him dizzy.

The voice was painful, the darkness oppressive. He couldn't see, he couldn't breathe; he was suffocating, dying. His head throbbed mercilessly, and he vaguely wondered when Harry was going to wake him up as he'd promised.

Draco tried to pull himself awake, and for a moment, he almost thought he'd succeeded. There was a faint greyness, vividly bright against the stark nothingness around him, but it was too far away. He tried one last time to cry out for help before the void took him, but again, his voice was lost in the darkness.

*********

Harry had been finishing a chocolate biscuit when a gasping noise from Draco brought his vigilant watch of the surrounding forest to an abrupt halt.

"Draco?" Harry whispered hesitantly. There was no response, and Harry couldn't see Draco's face easily through the shadows. He heard a second pained gasp, and Harry dropped the last bite of biscuit and quickly crawled to Draco's side.

Even in the twilight, Harry could see that Draco had gone dreadfully pale. He was completely rigid against the tree, and his face was warped in an expression of sheer terror. His eyes were shut, but it looked as though he was struggling to open them.

"Draco!" Harry grasped his shoulders and gave him a shake. "Hey, can you hear me? Draco?"

Draco began opening and closing his mouth, as though trying to speak, or possibly just breathe, but no sound escaped him. Harry was just considering dumping a flask of water over his face when Draco suddenly kicked out, flailing, the actions of a drunken man trying to run.

"No! Draco, don't! Stop!"

He tried to stop the kicking, to keep Draco from hurting himself, but he only succeeded in receiving a solid blow to the shoulder and another to the stomach. He sat back, feeling his heart thudding nervously in his chest. It seemed there was nothing he could do but watch Draco's nightmare play itself out, and hope he was okay. With a flash of insight, Harry realized how people must feel watching him when he had visions of Voldemort.

Then the next obvious conclusion hit him.

_Voldemort. No, he couldn't… not Draco! This sort of thing only happens to me!_

After nearly a minute, although it seemed like much longer, Draco became still. He lay curled up on his side, breathing laboriously.

Harry scrambled over to him and rolled him onto his back. Draco's face was covered in a sheen of cold sweat, and every muscle in his body was tense and shaking.

"Draco? Come on, say something! Merlin's beard, wake up! Answer me!"

He didn't expect any answers, even when Draco's mouth began moving again. Harry stared at him helplessly, when suddenly, very faint words formed on Draco's lips, barely a whisper.

"No… oh no…"

Some of the violent rigidity drained away from Draco's body, but it was less like relaxation and more like a collapse, even though he was already on the ground. He was breathing convulsively, as though he couldn't get enough air. Harry scooped Draco into a semi-upright position against his own legs to try to ease his breathing. He wrapped his hand around Draco's wrist, feeling the weak, rapid pulse. If Harry had only suspected it before, he was now positive: Draco was under some sort of attack. It seemed that Harry wasn't the only person whose mind Voldemort could invade.

At a loss of anything else to do, Harry grasped Draco's hand. It was terribly cold, and Harry absently began kneading it, trying to work some warmth and circulation back into Draco's fingers.

Then Draco whispered again. Harry had to lean in close to hear it.

"Can't save him… save yourself… consider… carefully…."

He fell silent again, save for his strained gasping for air. Harry watched fearfully as Draco's breathing became progressively more shallow. In the darkening twilight his skin looked pale enough to be translucent. Harry shifted Draco again and laid a hand across his chest, feeling the weak rise and fall of his lungs, the faint beating of his heart.

"Come on, Draco, wake up!" He gave Draco another quick shake, but the futility of the attempt only made him more desperate. He rubbed his hand across Draco's thin chest, feeling his own anxiety grow as each breath became weaker, as if Draco was being suffocated slowly.

"You have to wake up, Draco." Harry gritted his teeth against the hopelessness threatening to overwhelm him. "You promised that we're going to make it back together, and damn it, Malfoy, I'm holding you to that!"

Draco gave a sudden twitch, and his eyes opened narrowly.

"Draco!"

But the narrow slits of grey didn't seem to see him, or to see anything for that matter. They blinked once, twice, very slowly, as though trying to peer through a thick fog.

"Help… me…" Draco croaked weakly, an instant before his eyes fell shut again and his body went limp.

 

*********

_Lights go out and I can't be saved,  
Tides that I tried to swim against.  
You've put me down upon my knees,  
Oh I beg, I beg and plead.  
Come out of things unsaid, Shoot an apple of my head.  
Trouble that can't be named, Tig_ _ers waiting to be tamed.  
(Coldplay)_

 


	11. Lies of Omission

_Royal rebels discover you.  
Trust? You turn, there is no truth.  
And circle, circle, why are you scared?  
Why a smile instead of tears?  
(~Indigo Girls)_

*********

 

_He's alive. At least he's alive._

Darkness had fallen, and under the forest canopy the night was thick and stifling, with a clammy sort of coldness that oozed through clothing and flesh. In the centre of the small clearing, Harry sat with Draco's head cradled in his lap. He had enlarged Draco's cloak and tucked it carefully around Draco, then pulled the rest of it up and over his own shoulders. Although he knew it was foolish and naïve, it was comforting to imagine that the cloak actually afforded them some sort of protection from anything that might be lurking in the shadows, even though it could barely keep out the chill.

The few stars that had been visible through the treetops had faded away, one by one, as clouds rolled across the sky. If he hadn't known any better, Harry could almost have let himself believe that the cloudy night was yet another of Voldemort's tricks to make them miserable, but not even Voldemort could control the weather. Could he?

Harry glanced down towards Draco compulsively, not that he could see anything through the darkness. The sound of even breathing seemed to indicate that Draco was still sleeping peacefully. At any rate, Draco didn't appear to be in any pain, which was a small consolation.

Harry had thought he'd known just how big a risk Draco had taken by pulling Harry from the dungeons. He'd known the kind of destruction Voldemort could cause; he had seen it firsthand. Now, he silently cursed himself for not expecting this. If Voldemort had invaded Harry's own mind, it would have been different. That had happened before. He had never bothered to consider that Voldemort might be able to use Legilimency on someone else. As usual, he had assumed that he was a special case.

_I am so stupid._

Dumbledore had said Voldemort was a powerful Legilimens, but only now was Harry beginning to understand the scope of such power. It appeared that if you could control a person's mind, you could also control his body. Thankfully, Draco had seemingly been released from whatever nightmare Voldemort had been inflicting. He was breathing evenly, his heart was beating a strong rhythm, and he was alive.

But he wasn't moving.

And he wouldn't wake up.

Nothing he did seemed to be able to rouse Draco, so Harry tried to tell himself it was just exhaustion, and that once Draco had slept enough, he'd awaken refreshed and as obnoxious as ever. Logic told him that, considering the level of control Voldemort seemed to have, if he wanted Draco dead, Draco would already be dead. No, Voldemort wanted something else.

 _He wants me,_ Harry thought bleakly. _As if I didn't already know that. But now he's going to use Draco to get me._

He reached down and pulled the cloak tighter around Draco's unconscious form, comforting himself with the protective gesture. His hand brushed against the chain of the Mislocator, which reminded him of the fact that the only thing between himself and Voldemort was Draco Malfoy. Not a very reassuring thought. Could Draco possibly understand that he'd just stuck himself in the middle of the most deadly rivalry in the wizarding world?

_He probably has a hunch now._

Harry sighed deeply and leaned back against the tree behind him. He'd lost track of how long he had sat there, just like he'd lost all feeling in his legs. Still, the weight against his lap and the steady rhythm of Draco's breathing were strangely comforting. And for now, he'd take comfort where he could. Compulsively, Harry adjusted Draco's cloak again, tucking it around his own legs and up to Draco's chin.

The night wore on, and Harry felt himself drift in and out of sleep as his own fatigue pulled at him. Not even the buzz of insects broke the perfect silence, and there was no light to give his eyes some relief. For a moment, he thought his eyes were tricking him when he woke up from a doze to see the faintest outline of trees through the darkness, the first hint of dawn. He picked a point – the crook of a nearby tree limb – and stared at it as though he could hurry the daylight by force of will. It was then that he felt Draco shift against his lap.

Harry looked down hopefully at Draco's pale features, which just barely stood out against the darkness. After a moment's pause, he gave Draco a light shake.

"Hey... you awake?"

"Hmmmphff..."

"Draco?"

Draco's eyes snapped wide open, and his features twisted in alarm. "AAAAGHH!"

He jerked up and rolled away from Harry, getting his legs twisted in the cloak. He tried to jump to his feet, but because he was still tangled up, he tripped. He landed on his side with a heavy thud, and looked up at Harry in a dazed panic through the dim light of morning.

"Draco...?" Harry asked with a bit of fear, wondering if perhaps Draco's ordeal with Voldemort _wasn't_ over. "Are you okay?"

Draco's eyes were wide, darting from Harry's face to the surrounding shadows, back and forth as if searching for something.

"Dark... everything..." His voice was dry and scratchy, as if he'd been yelling a lot. He reached out with one hand and patted the ground in front of him, then dug his fingers into the soft loam. "Real... I can feel it... thank Merlin... couldn't touch anything."

"Draco?" Harry was really starting to worry about him.

"Couldn't move... couldn't see..." Draco grasped the edge of his cloak with his fingers, trying to pull it up to his shoulders to cover himself better, but the cloak was so tangled in his legs that it wouldn't move. Still, he kept pulling at it, shivering slightly the whole time.

Harry felt something in his chest twist as he surveyed Voldemort's latest victim. "Draco... please..."

Draco looked back up at him. For a moment, he continued to stare at Harry in wide-eyed confusion, then suddenly, realization struck him... and he noticed the fact that he was lying in a tangled heap on the ground. His eyes narrowed in annoyance. "If you ever breathe a word of this indignity to anyone, Potter, I swear I will tie you up and leave you for the vultures."

Harry let out an abbreviated laugh, partly in relief, partly to cover his own anxiety. "There you go with the bondage again, Malfoy. I'm starting to wonder about you."

Draco opened his mouth in indignation, but then closed it again and settled for glaring instead.

Harry forced a grin and extended his hand to Draco. Draco tried to hold his scowl for another moment before exhaustion seemed to hit him again. His shoulders slumped, and with a deep sigh, he took the offered hand and allowed Harry to pull him to a seated position.

In the dim light, Draco appeared a bit stressed and groggy, but not really any the worse for wear, considering the circumstances. He blinked a couple of times and looked around, trying to get his bearings. Then he yawned deeply, grabbed the cloak from behind him, and wrapped it tightly around his shoulders. Harry said nothing, waiting for Draco to speak first. He didn't have too long to wait.

"What are you staring at?" Draco asked edgily.

"I was waiting for you to tell me what happened."

Draco looked away and turned his attention to arranging his cloak around him on the ground. "It can wait until the morning; I'm too tired to talk right now... and what the hell did you do to my cloak?"

"Engorgement Charm," Harry said absently, processing what Draco had just said. "And what do you mean, 'wait until morning'?"

"I mean exactly what I said, Potter, and now is _not_ the time to test me. It's going to be too dark to see any minute now, I'm exhausted, and after that... that... whatever it was, I want some rest." He spoke in halting sentences, and Harry could tell he was trying desperately to cover his nerves. He wasn't doing a very good job of it.

"Draco –"

"I've still got a headache, and I don't want to talk now." He leaned up on his knees to fold some of the cloak into a makeshift pillow. "You go back to munching on your biscuits –"

"Draco –"

"– and let me sleep. If you're still really worried that I might have a concussion, wake me up every couple of hours if you absolutely must. I think I'd actually appreciate that, for some unknowable reason. By the way, you said you knew how to transfigure a pillow, right?"

"DRACO MALFOY!"

"WHAT?"

Harry stared at Draco in exasperation. "It's already morning."

Draco released the folds of the cloak he was holding, and sat down hard. "What?" he whispered.

"I tried to wake you up, but I couldn't. You've been out cold all night. What the hell happened to you?"

Draco didn't say anything for a moment, but the blank expression on his face quickly gave way to uncertainty, then to a touch of fear. Finally, he took a deep breath. "I don't know, Potter. You tell me."

"Draco, I'm not in your head. I don't know, either." It was a half-lie. He could certainly hazard a fair guess as to what had happened, but technically he didn't _know_ , and he wanted to see what Draco had to say first.

Draco stared at Harry with an unreadable expression. "In my head..." he said vaguely, then turned away with a shudder.

Harry edged towards him curiously. "Draco?"

"It was dark... and there was nothing... nothing but him... everywhere. I couldn't touch anything... all empty and dark..." As he spoke, his hand snaked down and grasped the edge of the cloak, and he clutched it nervously to his chest, twisting the fabric between his fingers.

"Did you see anything?" Harry prodded.

"Just darkness." Draco shook his head slightly. "It was all dark."

"Did you hear anything?"

At this, Draco's teeth clamped down on his lower lip, and he twisted his cloak so hard Harry was sure he was about to rip it, but he didn't answer. Harry regarded him cautiously. He had to find out what Voldemort had said and done to Draco. Had there been a message? A threat? Or possibly worse: a deal with the devil himself?

_"Can't save him… save yourself… consider… carefully…."_

That hadn't sounded promising, and Harry certainly had his suspicions, but he couldn't act on them, not yet. Whether he was right or wrong, the last thing he wanted to do was upset Draco any more. He had no clue how Draco was going to react to what had happened, and pushing him too hard would only make matters worse.

"Did he say anything to you, Draco?" Harry asked softly. "Anything at all?"

Draco stared at the ground for another moment before speaking. "It was just a bad dream," he murmured.

"What?"

"It was just a stupid, bloody nightmare. Too much stress, not enough sleep, that's all." He turned towards Harry, and the look on his face almost made Harry fall backwards.

"Malfoy, you can't honestly expect me to believe –"

"No, Potter, I _expect_ you to drop it."

Harry sat back, exasperated. Was Malfoy just trying to make things harder? They were stuck with each other, and whatever had happened was bound to affect both of them. Bottling it up would only make it harder to deal with matters later. If Voldemort had found a new way to come after them, Harry needed to know. But of course, trust Draco Malfoy to be unable to see past the end of his own pointy nose.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Well, it's good to know you're absolutely fine now. Back to your old obnoxious self. No harm done there."

"Hey!"

"Maybe the next time Voldemort is playing with your brain like a puppet, he'll fix a few things in there while he's at it. Attitude adjustment, perhaps."

Suddenly, Draco was nose-to-nose with Harry, glaring at him furiously. "Listen! Maybe _you_ can brush off an encounter with You-Know-Who like nothing happened, but for the rest of us mere mortals, it takes a bit of time! And I'll deal with it in my own way, thank you very much!"

Harry could feel Draco's breath on his cheek, see his eyes flashing through the shadows, just inches from his own. The sudden change was startling; apparently, Draco was far closer to cracking than it had seemed. If Draco was being threatened by Voldemort, the last thing he needed was someone else pushing him, especially if that someone was relying on Draco for his own survival.

Harry swallowed and took a slow breath. "Draco, please, just calm down for a minute. Pretending it's a nightmare isn't going to help."

Draco backed away slowly, but his expression didn't change, and he kept his eyes levelled with Harry's. "What do _you_ call it when you're asleep and you see, hear, and feel all sorts of scary stuff? Most normal people call that a nightmare."

Harry gritted his teeth; he wasn't about to back down either. "Most normal people haven't just infuriated the most dangerous Dark wizard of the century, though."

"Thanks for the reminder, Potter. Thanks a whole heap."

The staring contest continued for several long seconds, until finally Draco crumpled away and sat down hard, resting his forehead against the palm of his hand. He took a shaking breath that sounded more like a sob. "Why me, Potter?"

Harry's shoulders fell. "I ask myself the same thing all the time."

Draco turned his head sideways towards Harry, just slightly, and regarded him out the corner of his eye. "And what's the answer?"

"Born lucky, I guess."

Draco made a noncommittal sound, and they both fell silent again. Harry fidgeted for a moment, and looked away, feeling uncomfortable with the silence. He supposed he couldn't blame Draco for being upset, but at the same time, he had his own personal safety to worry about.

He had to convince Draco that they'd be all right until they arrived at Hogwarts, that Dumbledore and Snape could protect him from Voldemort's tricks. Had to show him that giving in to Voldemort was never the better option; that whatever torment Voldemort could inflict from a distance was nothing compared to the punishment he could administer in person. As long as they were out of his reach, they had a chance.

Too bad Harry had no idea how to convince Draco of anything.

The fact that Harry was extremely nervous about Draco's state of mind didn't help matters. Draco's first encounter with Voldemort had traumatized him to the point where he'd taken the risk of running away. Right now, this latest encounter seemed to have left Draco almost ready to crack. And Harry was at Draco's mercy.

It scared Harry to realize just how much power Draco really had over him. If Voldemort had succeeded in terrifying Draco sufficiently that night, or if he were to keep terrorizing him and Draco couldn't handle the pressure, Draco had the power to hand Harry over to Voldemort at any time. Draco was like a walking time-bomb.

Harry rubbed his forehead. His scar wasn't hurting; it was just a plain old headache. He sighed deeply. _When all else fails, eat something._ But for the first time in days, he wasn't particularly hungry.

He had begun half-heartedly digging through the food pack when Draco made another sound. Harry looked up to find Draco staring at him intently, as though he'd already been watching for some time.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry felt his stomach drop sharply. "You've said that before," he said carefully measuring his words, but underneath his neutral façade, he was afraid of what Draco might mean; afraid that he might be apologizing in advance for doing something awful.

To his frustration, Draco offered no explanation. Instead, he looked down at the ground and muttered, "Pass me some fruit, would you?"

Harry sighed heavily. "Yeah."

*********

Dawn turned into morning, which turned into a cloudy, muggy day as Draco trudged along behind Harry. Every so often, they heard the sound of running water. Harry said they were paralleling the river, although Draco didn't see why it mattered. He was more concerned with the hordes of Death Eaters that he was convinced must still be tracking them, a fact which Harry seemed to be completely ignoring. When Draco had voiced his concern... no, something more like worry... actually, near-paralyzing fear would be most accurate, Harry had said simply that Voldemort wasn't sending anyone after them anymore. That wasn't an answer Draco was ready to accept, but when he'd challenged it, Harry had spun around and drilled him with a glare that left no room for question.

_Why, Draco? Do you know something different? Do you have some sort of insight into Voldemort's plans? No? Didn't think so. So trust me: we're not being chased anymore._

Draco wasn't sure why he found himself conceding to Harry's demands, or why the hell he should believe a word of it. He also wasn't quite sure when it had been decided that Harry would take the lead, but in any case, something told him not to argue. Harry had been acting edgy around him all morning; he seemed downright uncomfortable, really, as though he expected Draco to go crazy on him at any moment. Or worse.

Why was it that Harry just seemed to _know_ what was going on? There was no denying that Harry had a connection to Voldemort and could tell what he was doing, even from a distance, but how did he do it? Was it some sort of telepathy? The concept almost made Draco jealous until he realized that such a thing would mean an open channel into Voldemort's brain – something that Draco had _no_ desire to experience again. Still, it made him wonder just how many strange and unique things there were about Harry. It was impressive, and more than a bit intimidating.

Draco wondered if perhaps Harry could read his mind, too. Those infernal green eyes always seemed to pierce right though him. _I'm not in your head_ , Harry had told him. Draco wasn't too sure about that, personally. Could Harry possibly know what Voldemort had said? The choice he'd been given? Did he think Draco would betray him, and if he did, was he right? Draco found himself afraid of the answer.

He watched the back of Harry's neck and shoulders as he walked, and he shuddered at the thought that the living, breathing person in front of him was dangling his life on Draco's unilateral decision. Draco couldn't make that sort of choice. There were no right answers. And even if he did decide to defy the Dark Lord – again – would it all be for nothing?

Voldemort had said Hogwarts was a hundred miles away, as the raven flies. Seemed like a very rough number, and Draco didn't suppose it was perfectly accurate. The terrain wasn't exactly smooth either. Again, he asked himself, could they cover that distance in the remaining twelve days and still have time for Dumbledore and Snape to create a counter-curse? And if not... Draco really didn't want to consider that possibility. After all, what were the chances that two partially trained wizards could escape unscathed from Voldemort himself?

_About the same as a baby surviving the killing curse, I suppose._

Of course, he wouldn't have to worry any of that if he simply gave up, obeyed the Dark Lord, and turned himself and Harry over to whatever fate had planned.

But he wasn't ready to make that gamble yet.

And he didn't want to hurt Harry.

Not again.

As he mused, Draco's trouser leg caught on a tangle of briars for what seemed like the hundredth time since they'd begun walking. Tugging only produced the telltale sound of fabric ripping. It was just one more thing reminding him how desperately out of his control everything was. Even the plants were trying to rip him to pieces.

Shifting his attention from his inner dilemma to the new hole in his clothing, he irrationally cursed the very existence of plants in a forest.

"Plants aren't supposed to be like this," Draco grumbled aloud.

From up ahead of him, Harry called back, "Like what? Green?"

"Very funny, Potter. Keep it up, and you might develop a sense of humour, but I doubt it."

Harry paused just long enough to half-heartedly stick his tongue out. Draco rolled his eyes.

"No, I mean plants shouldn't be all messy. In the gardens at Malfoy Manor, every plant is perfectly neat and orderly. And if they bite, they're placed where they can't reach people. I want these to be just like that; neat, trimmed, and out of my way." He finally shook his leg free of the last bramble on that particular branch and hurried to catch up with Harry.

Harry chuckled mirthlessly. "Please, tell me you're joking, Malfoy."

"Why should I be joking? Everything out here is so disorderly, so uncivilized –"

"Which is why this is called 'being away from civilization.' You know... where things are a bit wild and unpredictable."

"Well," Draco said as he carefully stepped over a twisted branch, "Mal... _I_ don't like being away from civilization."

Harry snorted.

"It's so ugly," Draco continued. He was talking now, and it felt good to break the silence, even better to complain. He was good at complaining. "I hate ugly things. There's no artistry to it. Our gardens were so beautiful, and this is so disorganized and crude. Urgh, damn thorns!" Draco shook his trousers free of another snag.

Harry finally pulled up short, turned partially, and looked sideways at Draco. "You really can't see how beautiful it is out here?"

"You call this beautiful?" Draco asked incredulously, indicating the somewhat damp lowlands through which they were travelling.

Harry shrugged. "Actually, this is rather enjoyable. Weather isn't too bad, and I like the sound of the river."

"The weather is cloudy, and that's the same river I got thrown into yesterday. And are you forgetting that we're fugitives here? I don't see what any sane person could possibly find appealing about this situation."

Harry looked Draco over, and something resembling pity crossed his face. "I've practically been caged my entire life, and here I am, completely free out here. No walls, no doors, no cell bars. Everything just feels so alive, and it's beautiful... and you really can't see it, can you?"

"What I see is us, miles from safety, a warm bed, shelter, _hot_ food, running water, and – gah!" He pulled away sharply as a hawthorn bush left a thin, reddish scratch across his neck. "And manicured gardens," he finished.

"Do you know any shortcuts to Hogwarts? Have a handy broomstick in your back pocket?"

"If I did, do you think I'd still be traipsing through this damn jungle?"

"Well then, whether or not you like it, you're stuck here now, for the long haul. That is, unless you _want_ to go back."

Draco caught the sudden tightness in Harry's voice, and the unease that crossed his face. _Going back..._ did Harry really suspect?

Even though Draco had made no decision yet, the look on Harry's face caused a wave of guilt to slam into his stomach. He couldn't turn Harry over. Not now, not after he'd promised they'd make it home safely. Even to consider the possibility... but that wasn't such an awful thing, was it? To carefully weigh the options? No, that was just how things were. Any intelligent person considered every angle of a problem before deciding; he was simply being smart about this. And until Draco had made his choice, Harry didn't have to know. Just like the other things he didn't need to know. The thought of everything he was keeping from Harry only made Draco feel even more guilty.

Harry's eyes were starting to press on him, and Draco quickly covered his hesitation. He sniffed the air, doing his best to appear thoughtful. "Well, the air in that dungeon was rather stale. Not particularly good for one's health. So I suppose this will have to do."

Harry blew out slowly between his pursed lips. Draco couldn't tell if he was relieved or just exasperated. "You know, Draco, you could just step around the thorny bushes, like I do."

Draco opened his mouth to retort, something to the effect that _Malfoys don't step aside for anything or anyone_ , but he bit it off and dropped his head resignedly. When he looked up again, Harry was giving him a soft smirk, to his chagrin.

"So you explain to me, genius, how _do_ I tell which ones have thorns? They all look the same, until you step in them and they bite."

At this, Harry actually laughed aloud. "Draco, half the things you've stepped on are also found in jars in Snape's potions supply room. Look there. Nightshade and mugwort, and up ahead are some stinging nettles, which I'm sure you'll walk right into, at the rate you're going. I think that shrub over there is blackthorn. And here I thought _you_ were the Potions expert."

Draco looked at the small plant sticking out from under his boot, surprised to recognize the specimen of mugwort, an ingredient that he must have added to at least a dozen potions in the past year alone. "Where the hell did you learn that?" he asked in surprise. "You never pay attention in Potions!"

It was Harry's turn to look a bit awkward. "Actually, we learned that in Herbology. Remember those units on Potions Plants? Got to see the living plants, instead of just dried, powdered, tinctured, and chopped up ingredients. I never thought those lessons would actually come in useful."

Draco scowled and started walking again, brushing lightly past Harry and taking the lead. "Wonderful. Harry Potter, notorious Potions failure, second only to Longbottom, has bested my supreme knowledge in that noble field of study. I think my ego may never recover."

"Hey!" Harry called from behind him. "I scored well enough on my Potions OWL to qualify for sixth year Potions. Give me _some_ credit."

"Ha, but you had to take _remedial_ Potions lessons to do it."

"I did _NOT_ take remedial Potions!" Harry snarled, causing Draco to stop so suddenly that he almost tripped.

He turned, and his eyebrows furrowed together. "I saw you, in Snape's office. You _said_ you were taking remedial Potions!"

Harry stopped just a few feet from him, mouth opened. It was obvious that he wasn't sure he should have said that. He made a face, as though rolling his next words around in this mouth, tasting them, deciding whether he wanted to spit them out. Finally, with a cold glower at Draco, he made his decision.

"It's not like it matters anymore if I tell you or not. I wasn't taking _remedial_ Potions, or any sort of Potions lessons, you git. Snape was trying to teach me Occlumency. Trying to stop Voldemort from getting into my head." A small, twisted smile played at the corner of Harry's mouth. "Just like he got into your head."

Draco felt his stomach do an uncomfortable flip, but before he could comment, Harry's smile faded and he shook his head. "Didn't work anyway, and even then, those sessions were probably the most miserable experience I'd ever had. Snape, invading my thoughts, that greasy, slimy, no-good –"

"You're talking about _my_ Head of House, Potter," Draco said edgily.

"Whatever." Harry folded his arms tightly across his chest. "I think I'd even prefer to be stuck in detention with Umbridge again, carving punishments into my own hand, than have Snape sifting through my thoughts. At least then I'd know who the enemy was."

Draco's irritation was quickly overshadowed by curiosity. "Carving... what?"

Harry's folded arms loosened fractionally, and he considered Draco for a long moment before speaking. "Draco, you probably ought to know that if it seems like I bounce back from things too easily... well... have you ever stopped to consider that maybe it's because this isn't the first time I've been through hell?"

Harry's face was a neutral mask, and his words were even and measured. Somehow, that only served to increase the shiver that raced up Draco's spine. "Maybe," he said slowly.

Draco licked his dry lips, and felt the grittiness of the sand that was stuck there. It didn't even cross his mind to spit it out. He had to ask, even if he wasn't sure he really wanted to know. "So then, tell me, what did you mean by... 'carving'?"

Without changing his expression, Harry extended his left hand towards Draco, palm-down. "Read it."

Draco hesitated, not taking his eyes from Harry's stoic face, until Harry nodded once towards his outstretched hand. "Go on."

Draco took Harry's hand uncertainly, then looked down. At first, he thought it was a trick of the light; a strange pattern of lines and loops was barely visible under a film of dust and grime. He pulled up the edge of his sleeve and wiped the back of Harry's hand, feeling strangely like an archaeologist removing the dust from an ancient artefact. He pulled his sleeve away, and what he saw there sickened him.

Raised scars, very faint, ran along the back of Harry's hand in a rather shoddy script, spelling out the words, _I must not tell lies._

"Ha... Harry... did you do this with a knife?" The very thought was making Draco feel decidedly faint and queasy. The image of a dagger, breaking flesh, drawing blood...

An amused snort broke Draco's train of thought.

"No. Go on. Ask me. I know you want to." Harry looked like he was actually enjoying watching Draco turn green.

 _No, I don't._ Draco stared at the lines, trying to be rational. "A quill," he said with more assurance than he felt. It made sense, and the sudden widening of Harry's eyes confirmed that his guess had been accurate. "Harry, why the hell were you carving such an asinine thing into your hand with a quill?"

Harry's eyes immediately narrowed again. "Think I had a choice? It was detention with Umbridge. She had me write lines... which didn't sound too bad until I actually put the quill on the parchment. Everything I wrote on that parchment was immediately sliced into the back of my hand. Over and over again. Every damn detention. Until it was permanent."

Draco looked back down at the back of Harry's hand, feeling a surge of bitter nervousness at the back of his throat. "Harry, that's Dark magic."

"Tell me something I don't know."

Draco's finger traced along the slightly raised pattern. "Written words... markings... do you realize what this means?"

"Heh. I _can_ read English."

"You're impossible, you know that?" When Harry didn't respond, Draco could only shake his head. "Listen, Potter, this sort of magic... I've never seen it before, but I've heard about it. When you're marked like this... you have to... what I'm trying to say is that whatever condition is written there, once the markings become permanent, will be enforced on you, magically."

A trace of fear swept across Harry's face, but it quickly vanished. "I've lied since this happened. A lot, actually."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I'll bet they were little white lies, then. Nothing significant, nothing profound. If you can resist the Imperius curse, you can probably also resist this a bit. But mark my words, if you try to lie from the pit of your soul, you won't be _able_ to do it."

Harry suddenly pulled his hand away. "The day I let _anything_ done by that bullfrog of a woman affect me..."

"You did it yourself, Potter. In the strictest sense, this was self-imposed."

For a moment, Harry stared at Draco, then slowly, he lowered his head and glared darkly over the rims of his glasses. His voice dropped dangerously. "You want a piece of truth, Draco? Then try this on for size: I wanted to kill her with my bare hands. I still do."

Draco stood still, caught yet again by Harry's piercing stare for several seconds before he was able to break away with a strained chuckle. "We're more alike than you'd ever want to admit, Potter. And you stopped me from killing Crabbe? At least I had the excuse of on-the-spot fury and too much adrenaline."

He started to walk away again, hoping to leave this conversation behind and begin to cover ground again, but Harry's harsh voice cut the air.

"You handed me over to her."

Draco froze in his tracks, but didn't turn around.

"You handed me over to her," Harry repeated, softer this time. Draco almost thought he heard Harry's voice shake. "You tripped me in the hallway, while we were running from the DA meeting, and you handed me over to her."

"Harry..."

"And in the office, that last night, you took my wand. Did whatever she told you to do... you and that squad of yours. Whatever was easiest."

Draco suddenly found the air around him a bit too thick to breathe. He turned halfway around, unable to face Harry straight-on. Instead, he looked sideways at Harry, carefully avoiding Harry's eyes.

Harry looked up bleakly. "You handed me over," he said again, and it sounded like the final strike of a gavel to Draco's ears.

"Orders... I was just following orders," Draco heard himself say. "I had to."

"You wanted to."

Draco's head fell. "I did," he whispered hoarsely. "That was then."

"That..." Harry shook his head once.

_Please don't ask me this, Potter. Please. I can't answer you._

Draco looked up again, flinching when he made eye contact. Harry didn't say a word, but the question came through loud and clear.

_And if somebody gives you orders now... are you going to follow them?_

Draco wanted to say no; he really did, and he almost blurted it out, but the words died on his tongue.

 _What if it's all for nothing?_ The voice in the back of Draco's mind argued. _What if you can't make it back in time? What if there's no possible counter-curse? What if Voldemort catches you anyway? What if... what if...?_

Harry finally gave a nearly imperceptible nod, looked away, and began walking with a purposeful stride, automatically taking the lead. "I feel filthy."

Draco blinked in confusion at the sudden change of topic, and then realized there had also been a change in direction, as Harry had taken a sharp left. Harry had almost disappeared into the trees before Draco's brain caught up with the situation and he raced off after him, barely managing to avoid yet another thorn bush. "Potter, where are you going?"

"To the river. I need a bath," came the reply from up ahead.

Draco swatted branches out of his way, trying desperately to keep an eye on the red weave of Harry's jumper through the thick foliage. "A bath... ? Potter, you're mad. Just use a cleaning charm. Potter? Harry?"

"You could use a bath, too. You were complaining about the lack of running water. Well, there's plenty of it here." Harry's voice was muffled, and when Draco pushed aside the last branch, he saw why.

Harry was standing on the bank of the river, his jumper already halfway up over his head. His T-shirt was partially tangled in the outer garment, and his abdomen was exposed to the bottom of his ribs. Draco quickly looked aside, inexplicably embarrassed by the sight of Harry stripping in front of him.

"Harry, the day I willingly step into a river again will be the same day I adopt a Hippogriff as a pet."

The sweater finally came loose from Harry's head, causing his hair to stand up in every direction at once. "And here I thought you would be the type to be finicky about cleanliness."

Draco turned back to Harry to respond, but quickly looked away again when he realized Harry was unbuttoning his trousers. "The river is part of the reason I'm so filthy! All that mud... urgh. I'll use my cleaning charms, thank you very much."

Harry snickered. "Well, you didn't do a very good job on the last one. Your face is a mess –"

Draco wiped at his chin with his sleeve.

"– your clothing is caked with mud –"

Draco shook out his shirt and dusted off his trousers.

" – and your hair is all grimy and stringy."

Immediately, Draco rounded on Harry in irritation. "My hair on a bad day is a hundred times better than yours –"

As soon as Draco saw Harry, he wished he hadn't. Harry was just finishing pulling off his socks. The only clothing left on him were his boxer shorts, but it wasn't the level of exposure that stunned Draco. Instead, he found himself staring at the odd bruises here and there, two particularly dark ones on Harry's shoulder and abdomen, the harsh prominence of Harry's ribs, and the sharp lines of the bones in Harry's shoulders. He'd known that Harry was thin even under normal conditions; he'd known that Harry hadn't eaten for three days in the dungeons. And obviously being on the run wasn't the best way to gain weight. But even so, he'd had no idea that Harry was so painfully thin under his clothes. And so bruised. From being thrown around by Crabbe, from stumbling through the woods, from thrashing around on the dungeon floor.

"Yes, aren't I just the cutest little thing?" Harry's question dripped sarcasm.

"Huh?" Draco asked stupidly, his mind still reeling from the sight in front of him. He was feeling strangely choked.

"Draco, you're staring."

Staring was a most grievous offence, Draco had been taught, and that chastisement quickly pulled Draco out of his daze. He looked down at his own feet in embarrassment, mumbling, "Sorry... I didn't mean... go on, Potter."

"Hmm. You know, you probably have a lovely set of bruises too, if you're so offended by mine. Crabbe made pretty good work of you yesterday as well."

Draco made an indistinct noise in his throat, but what he wanted to say was that "offended" wasn't the right word. "Remorseful" would have been far more accurate.

There was a loud splashing sound above the steady trickle of the flowing river. Draco looked up in time to see Harry duck below the surface partway out in the water, and then watched as the trail of bubbles continued along the same direction. Harry's head broke the surface suddenly in the middle of the river. His glasses had been left on the bank, and the green of his eyes were visible even from that distance. The water was deeper and slower here than it had been where they'd followed it the previous day, creating a rather peaceful little pool.

Harry shook out his head with a laugh, spraying water all around him. "It's freezing!"

Draco pursed his lips. "That's what you get for ploughing into rivers, Potter. Hypothermia."

Harry laughed again, sounding breathless from the chill of the water. "No, stupid. It feels good. Refreshing. You really ought to try it. You can't tell me that all the dirt in your clothes isn't making you miserably itchy." He dunked his head back underwater, only to resurface and shake again. He reminded Draco of a shaggy black puppy.

The water _did_ look so cool and pleasant. Draco found himself scratching at the sand inside his shirt before he realized he was doing it. He was almost tempted to join Harry, but he wouldn't. He didn't want to find out what sorts of bruises marred his own skin, knowing perfectly well that he bruised very easily. He didn't want Harry to see those bruises. He didn't want to get too close to Harry.

Sure, he'd showered in the locker rooms with his team-mates after Quidditch games, but that was different. He didn't care what they thought of him; didn't care if they saw him. He wasn't sure why, but Harry was different.

Besides, he'd never been swimming in his life, and he was afraid of the water. Not that he would _ever_ admit it. And certainly not to Harry.

"There are probably strange diseases floating around in that water," Draco said hurriedly. "You'll die of Dragon Pox before we get to Hogwarts."

He immediately regretted the sentiment, but Harry, who was scrubbing furiously at his arms and the back of his neck, didn't seem to care. "At least I'll die clean!" He ducked back underwater again.

How did that boy go from edgy, irritable quarrelling to light-hearted laughter in the span of a few minutes? Draco mused to himself as he watched Harry, splashing in the river, his thin body covered in water and bruises. Such drastic mood swings. At the moment, he wasn't behaving like a person on the run from someone who wanted to kill him; more like someone on a grand adventure.

It had to be a defence mechanism, Draco reasoned. It was fair, he supposed. Draco was using his own sort of psychological defence to deal with the events of last night, so Harry should be entitled to cope with things in his own way, too. Not that Draco liked his method. Seeing Harry so nonchalant only made him more nervous.

He still wondered how the hell Harry could be so sure they weren't being chased, but he had to admit, it was a nice thought. It would be easier to believe that it was just the two of them out there. No terrifying visions. No threats. No search parties of Death Eaters. Just Harry, Draco, and miles of innocent forest where the plants were beautiful, not blood-thirsty. And Harry's light-hearted moods, although bizarre and seemingly misplaced, were easier to deal with than arguments.

 _The arguments._ Why did Draco always seem to come out on the short end of those arguments? It always turned out the same way, both back in the dungeons and here, now that they'd escaped. Harry could twist Draco into mental knots, but as soon as he decided the conversation was going somewhere he didn't like, he'd cut it off. Harry controlled the conversation; Harry set the limits, Draco realized. While that annoyed Draco, he supposed it was just as well. If Harry wanted to avoid certain issues for now, that was fine. It made it easier for Draco to avoid them too. If Harry was distracted, Draco wouldn't have to face up to anything. Yet.

Gingerly, Draco approached the edge of the river and crouched down. The water at the edge was fairly still, and his rippled reflection stared back up at him. Harry was right; he was a mess. In more ways than one. Beyond the smudged face and ratty hair, he imagined he could see himself falling apart, one small piece at a time.

As Harry continued to splash merrily in the background, Draco scooped up a handful of water and brought it up to his own face. Harry was right; it was wonderfully cool and inviting. But that didn't mean he had any intention of going in. Absolutely not.

After a few more handfuls of water to the face, Draco set to work with the cleaning charms, doing his best to ignore Harry, who still sounded far too happy for someone in his situation. After a few minutes, Draco appraised his own reflection. Everything looked fine. He felt clean, but he didn't feel refreshed. It would have to do.

It was then that Harry came bursting out of the water. His boxer shorts clung to his legs, and he left small wet puddles with each step. He stopped next to Draco and shook out his hair again, deliberately spattering Draco.

Draco tried to scowl. "Do you _mind_?"

"That felt so good!" Harry laughed. His face had real colour to it for the first time since he'd been captured: bright pink cheeks, eyes shining. The bruises almost seemed to have faded under the goose bumps that were raised all over his skin. "You really ought to try it."

"It's too cold."

"Actually, the water may be cool, but the air is warming up. I think I'll even leave my jumper in the sack for now. You must be sweating under that thick shirt."

Draco's scowl faltered. "I'm fine."

Harry shrugged. "Suit yourself." He grabbed his wand from where it lay on top of his clothes, plucked a fern from the ground, and quickly transfigured it into a large, fluffy red towel.

"Show-off."

"Come on, Draco," Harry said as he rubbed vigorously at his hair with the towel. "Here I thought you were the academic pride of Slytherin. I haven't seen you transfigure a damn thing since we started."

"Transfiguration is _McGonagall's_ class. Not exactly my favourite class." Draco kicked absently at a rock.

"Well, you passed your Transfiguration OWL, didn't you?" Harry paused, waiting for Draco's response. "Didn't you?"

Draco kicked the rock again, this time hard enough to dislodge it slightly from the ground. "Acceptable. Barely passed. One of my father's old friends in the Ministry altered the record to an 'O'. Felt bad for me... with my father and everything." His cheeks burned with shame. "Same thing with Charms. But if it hadn't been for you, I would have at least _passed_ Charms on my own!"

"Me?" Harry whipped the towel down and away from his head. "What do you mean, if it hadn't been for me?"

This time, Draco kicked the rock all the way to the water, where it landed with a heavy plunk in the shallows. "Already told you... my Levitation Charms are terrible... unless I really concentrate... and I was distracted. You made me drop the wine glass," he muttered.

"I made...?" Harry let the question hang in the air for a moment, then suddenly, he burst out laughing. It had been bad enough when Harry had been laughing earlier despite their dangerous situation, but now he was laughing at Draco.

"Shut up!" Draco was on his feet, intending to go nose to nose with Harry, but Harry was doubled over with mirth, hands on his knees. His towel was trailing on the ground. "Stop it!"

"That's too funny!" Harry stood up, sucking in a deep breath between bursts of laughter. "And I remember the look on your face after you dropped it... ha! That was priceless!"

"You can stop _anytime_ now, Potter," Draco growled darkly.

Harry closed his mouth, but the grin that was stuck there threatened to split his cheeks. Still snickering, he turned away and finished drying himself. A quick _Finite Incantatum_ turned the towel back into a very soggy fern, and then Harry set to work using cleaning charms on his clothes.

Draco turned away. He felt mortified with himself. What on earth could have ever inspired him to admit those things to Harry? That he couldn't handle Transfiguration on his own?

The last school year had been different from all the previous years; power had gone to his head. Kissing Umbridge's arse had got him further than good marks, and he'd spent less time than ever working on academic matters. The only class it had really seemed to affect too terribly was Transfiguration. It wasn't _his_ fault that McGonagall hated him. That old bat had her favourites; Potter was one of them, and Draco wasn't. At the time, he couldn't have cared less what she thought of him, but now he wished he'd studied more. Being openly bested by Potter, even when they were working together, was an embarrassment. Not good enough. Never good enough.

"Draco, you ought to know that scowling at the plant isn't going to make it go away."

Draco looked up to see that Harry was already dressed and ready to go, jumper in hand. It startled Draco to realize that he'd been staring blankly at the ground for so long. "It ought to go away," he said flatly. "It's all ugly."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're just not going to learn, are you?" He leaned down and took a closer look at the small blue flowers, fingering them lightly. "Periwinkle. Hermione would be proud of me... I'm actually _remembering_ something that didn't come from a Quidditch book." He cocked his head, appraising the plant. "It's rather cute, actually. And look, no thorns!"

He glanced back up, still grinning. It was too much for Draco.

"Harry, how can you be so effing flippant at a time like this? Looking at flowers, playing in the river... don't you even understand that you're in danger? Or are you too big to bother yourself with such worries? And I _still_ don't know how the hell you're so sure we're not being chased!"

The grin was gone in a flash, and Draco immediately realized how superficial it had been. Harry stood to face him. "Flippant? You call this flippant? I'm just trying not to go mad! And if I want to do that by having _fun_ , then you tell me what the hell is wrong with that? It's better than sulking around, cursing innocent plants."

Quickly realizing that he wasn't going to win that one, Draco sidestepped the argument. "Innocent? Those plants have been attacking me all day!"

"Well, maybe if you decided to pay attention –"

"Do you think I have nothing better on my mind than watching for rabid, man-eating plants?" Draco's voice started to shake.

"Well, maybe if –"

"Shut up! Just shut up for one damn minute!" He was getting louder and more frantic with each word. "You get to be happy when you want to, and furious when it suits you, and I just have to deal with it! You lecture _me_ like you know everything that I'm going through – and don't you interrupt me, Potter! You might have been dealing with the Dark Lord since before you knew your own name, but _you’re not me_! You don't know the first thing about me, you don't know what I lost, and you don't know what it feels like when you don't know what to believe! _I said don’t interrupt me_! Damn it, Potter!"

Draco was shaking with pent-up frustration and fear, but he had built up too much momentum to stop now, not that he wanted to anyway. The stunned look on Harry's face only urged him onwards.

"You're going for a swim, and I'm trying to get us home faster! You're busy missing your friends, and I'm trying to figure out how to avoid being killed by my housemates when we get there! You may have been through hell in the past, but we're here together now, Potter! I'm here too! And _this is hell_.

"I'm sick of this 'Potter knows everything' act. Maybe you DON'T know everything! Ever thought of that? And maybe, if you didn't act like you _do_ know everything, someone might fill you in!"

Draco's tirade came to a grinding halt as he ran out of wind and words. He stood with jaw locked, fists clenched, glaring at Harry as though he could gain some control over the situation by willpower alone.

Harry stared back at him, wide-eyed. His cheeks had an angry flush to them, which contrasted sharply his posture: leaning backwards slightly as though stunned, with his arms dangling awkwardly at his sides. Slowly, his expression changed to one of reluctant resolve. For a moment, Draco thought that he was about to start yelling, but instead, Harry gritted his teeth and took a slow, whistling breath through them.

"You may be right, Draco. But like you said, we're in this together, and maybe I'm _not_ just playing around because I don't want to take things seriously. Think about this carefully for a second, and hopefully some of this will sink through that thick Slytherin skull of yours. You know that Voldemort wants to control you. One of the ways he does that to people is by making them miserable. It weakens you, and the more you allow yourself to be miserable, the more you give him what he wants. The more you give him what he wants, the more he can control you."

Draco's breath suddenly caught in his throat. He was still furious, but now that he had stopped ranting and was listening to Harry, he could feel his fear starting to creep back through his veins. He looked at Harry, trying to read the confusing array of emotions assembled on his face; concern, worry, and anger, creating a strangely discordant collage.

Harry seemed to think he was understanding, and gave a slow nod. "Last year was probably the most miserable year of my life. Everything kept being taken away from me. I was angry, I didn't trust anyone, I pushed people away. By the end of the year, I was Voldemort's puppet. Did exactly what he wanted me to do. Complete manipulation by the one person I was trying to fight against, and by the time I realized it, it was too late.

"I'm not stupid, so give me some credit. I know what's going on. I'm trying to give you another option, Malfoy, before you get in too deep. Maybe you'll give it a chance before you push me away, too."

Harry looked at him hopefully for a long moment, but Draco was too stunned to say anything. He stared back, mouth slightly agape, too busy trying to figure out what he thought of all this to be able to speak. Finally, though, Harry's shoulders slumped a bit, and he turned away.

"We'll follow the river for a while. I like the sound of the water flowing."

He started walking away, following the flow of the river south and showing no sign of looking back. Draco watched his retreating back, and realization struck him. Each time Harry walked away like that, he was trusting Draco to follow him. Harry was perfectly aware that if he went too far without Draco, Voldemort would detect him. He was giving Draco every possible chance to betray him and turn him over.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid boy._

Draco glanced down at the small periwinkle plant by his foot, at the elegant flowers against the foliage. Harry was right... it was rather cute. Pretty, even. Dainty. Delicate. _Weak._

In a flash of irritation, he stomped on it, grinding it against the pebbly ground with his heel. There was no room for more weakness. Draco seemed to have that quota covered by himself. Weakness was what had got him into trouble in the first place; it had caused him to spend his life cowering behind people who were bigger than him, grabbing for power he hadn't earned, and now it had eventually stuck him in a no-win situation.

Finally, for the first time, he really understood the situation, and that he had already made his choice. If he wanted this to turn out well at all, there was only one way to go. He took a deep breath, adjusted the travel pack on his shoulder, and took off after Harry.

"Wait, Harry... I'm coming."

*********

Draco wasn't sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, he had moved up to walk alongside Harry, not behind him. It was a strange feeling, but not unpleasant.

Uncertain of what to say, Draco busied himself with watching the scenery, partly to keep an eye out for the Death Eaters that Harry insisted weren't following them, but mostly just for the sake of looking at everything. Under the cloudy sky, the river didn't exactly sparkle, but it was clear and pleasant, and the gentle sound of the water flowing reminded him of his favourite fountain in the Manor gardens. He began to watch where Harry was stepping, and quickly learned to avoid the plants with thorns. Every so often, he'd recognize a useful potions plant, and added it to his growing mental catalogue. He wouldn't be brewing potions in the woods, but it was a way to keep his mind occupied. He couldn't quite agree that the landscape was beautiful, with the grey skies and muggy air, but it wasn't wholly unpleasant either. Far better than Voldemort's dungeons, for certain.

Provided that Voldemort didn't hurt him, of course.

They paused in the shade of a large oak for a water break, refilling the flask twice between them. Draco watched over the edge of the flask as he drank, observing Harry, who had leaned back against the trunk of the oak, eyes closed, with his right hand hooked around the back of his neck.

Harry sighed deeply, then opened one eye to peek at Draco. "Starting to relax, finally?"

Draco finished the last swallow of water from the flask and nodded. "It's not so bad, I suppose. I mean, sure, anything could happen. We could be attacked by werewolves or poisonous reptiles, freeze to death, or die of starvation if the food runs out, but for now, it's not bad."

Harry opened both his eyes. "You are just a lovely little ray of sunshine, aren't you?"

"My mother always said I was the light of her life."

Harry gave him a half-hearted smirk. "I'm sure she needed sunglasses."

"Sun-whats?"

"Never mind," Harry said with a soft chuckle.

Draco rolled his eyes as he screwed the cap back on the flask. "Mistletoe."

Harry's head perked up. "What's that?"

Draco grinned. "Mistletoe. On the trunk of the oak tree." He glanced up. "And all over the branches, too. Powerful potions ingredient. Increases the potency of many different brews."

Harry looked hard at Draco for a moment, then his face lit up in a cross between amazement and amusement. "You've been paying attention."

"Hey, I couldn't let you get the best of me again, could I? Damn know-it-all. You're worse than Granger."

"She was the one who actually pressured me into studying this rubbish in the first place." One of Harry's eyes narrowed as he looked up at the branches overhead. "You know, Muggles have a use for mistletoe too."

"Oh?" Draco asked, strangely curious as to what purpose Muggles could have for a poisonous, parasitic plant.

Harry looked back down at Draco, obviously supressing a laugh. "Trust me, right now, you wouldn't want to know."

"Potter, you're a pain in the arse, you know that, right?"

"Absolutely," he said, tipping his head in mock-respect.

Draco sighed dramatically, then spared a quick glance back over his shoulder. "We have to keep moving. Don't want to waste too much time."

Harry leaned forward and levered himself away from the tree trunk. "Are we on a schedule?"

The question was casual, but Draco felt his insides freeze for a second. "No," he said tersely. "No, I just want to get back sooner rather than later."

Harry nodded, straight-faced. "No argument here." He inclined his head, indicating the direction of travel. "Ready?"

"After you."

Harry shook his head, bowed at the waist, and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "I insist. Ladies first."

Draco gritted his teeth. "The joke is getting old, Potter."

"Who said I was joking?" Harry asked lightly as he fell into step next to Draco.

Draco didn't even want to give him the satisfaction of glaring at him, so he kept his eyes fixed to the ground ahead of him as he walked, intent on adding to his plant catalogue. It was rather relaxing, although he couldn't quite stop himself from being irritated that all these plants weren't properly trimmed and arranged.

"What's the first thing you're going to do when we get back?" Harry asked suddenly.

Surprised by the simple question, Draco answered easily, "Take a bath."

"Good plan."

Draco thought longingly of the beautiful tub in the Prefects' bathroom, and let himself relish the thought. "Oh yes. A long, hot bath. Clean every bit of this filth out of my skin. Thank Merlin for that tub in the Prefects' bathroom. I won't move from it for hours. Days, even. And the bubbles. I think I'll use every type of bubbles they have."

"I'm rather fond of the purple ones myself," Harry said offhandedly.

"Yeah, those are... wait a minute." He looked sharply at Harry. "How the hell would you know about the Prefects' bathroom?"

Harry opened his mouth soundlessly, then went red in the face and quickly turned away.

"Who gave you the password, Harry? C'mon, spit it out." Draco smirked madly. "Did you have some sort of secret rendezvous in the most infamous shag-room in Hogwarts?"

Harry turned back at Draco, even redder than when he'd looked away. "What the...? I was _not_ having some sort of 'secret rendezvous'! I was... it was for –"

This was far too amusing, seeing Harry Potter go red as a cherry. "Who gave you the password, then?"

"Cedric Diggory," Harry mumbled. "But it's not –"

"You were shagging Cedric Diggory? No wonder you said you'd never had a girlfriend!"

Harry looked like he was about to choke on his own tongue. "I... it... absolutely not sh-sha... Malfoy, stop putting words in my mouth!"

"What else have you had in that mouth?"

Harry's face was turning rapidly from red to purple. Eyes flashing furiously, he reached over and gave Draco a shove to the side.

Still laughing, Draco stumbled a couple of steps. "Easy there, Potter! I must have hit pretty close to the mark to get you all riled up like that."

"You are such an arsehole, you know that?" Harry shot sideways at him.

"I try, I really do."

"You're also so incredibly off-the-mark that it's sickening."

Draco snickered again. "Turnabout is fair play. That was for the bondage comment."

Harry growled low in his throat, then shook his head. "Fine. We're even."

"No we're not. I still want to know what the hell you were doing in the Prefects' bathroom."

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry said flatly.

Draco's mouth fell open slightly in exasperation. "Harry, what the hell is wrong with you? _You_ get to interrogate _me_ about whatever you want, but the second I ask a simple question, you act like you're guarding the darkest secrets from the Department of Mysteries."

Harry continued to stare straight ahead as he walked. "You still haven't told me what happened last night... what happened in that vision you had. I'd say that's a fair bit more important than what happened almost two years ago in a bathtub."

Surprised by the unexpected turn of the conversation, Draco stopped paying attention just long enough to walk into another thorn-covered plant. Growling, he ripped his trousers free again. "That's one damn thing, Potter! And I already told you that I just need to work it out myself first. It's not like you hadn't already pulled my entire psyche apart piece by piece. But _you_! Every time you decide the conversation is going somewhere you don't like, you lock up like a high-security vault at Gringotts!"

Harry grunted.

"Don't you talk to _anyone_?"

"I talk to lots of people. I've been talking to you for more than a week now."

Draco chewed on the inside of his lip as he considered this. "No, you've been talking _at_ me. I'm quite familiar with the difference."

Harry turned his head to the side to regard Draco for just a moment, eyes lit with a spark of curiosity. "Why is that?"

"Oh no you don't. Not that again. We're not talking about me right now. _You._ You want to know everything, but you won't answer a single question unless you feel I'm _worthy_ of knowing, or something stupid like that. Why are you so damn secretive about everything you do?"

Harry stopped short. His eyes and voice were cold as he spoke. "Maybe I _want_ to be secretive. Maybe secrecy is all I know. Nobody tells me anything, so why should I tell people my secrets? They're all I seem to have anymore. And when I _do_ try to tell people the truth –" He held up his left hand so Draco could see the writing there. "– nobody wants to hear it."

Draco looked at Harry, and felt a sudden wave of sadness. He sighed. "Maybe you're talking to the wrong people."

For a moment, nothing seemed to change. Then slowly, the tension and anger in Harry's face faded, to be replaced by a pained tightness that made Draco's stomach twist. Harry's head drooped, and he looked down at the ground.

"You may think it's not important, but I do miss Ron and Hermione."

Draco shrugged. "It's important to you, I suppose. Did you talk to them?"

Harry glanced up without moving his head. "They were the only people I could talk to."

Draco could almost feel the emotions radiating from Harry. He'd never genuinely missed anyone. Sure, when his mother and father had gone on a three-week holiday when he was nine, leaving him in the care of his aunt, he'd said he missed his parents. Somehow, looking at Harry's expression now, he knew he'd had no clue what that really meant. Draco was running away from danger, hoping that he wasn't running into more danger. Harry would be returning to Hogwarts to people who cared about him; Draco hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said he was afraid of his own housemates looking for ways to kill him.

He also found himself envious of Weasley and Granger. Just like Harry had already said, a week ago. _"Hermione and Ron are two of the best witches and wizards I could ever want to know. They would die for me, and I'd die for them. That's loyalty, Malfoy, and that's a hell of a lot to be jealous of."_ Once again, Wonder Boy was right. Unlike the other times, when the truth had hurt like a Bludger to the head, this merely left a nagging ache in his chest.

He looked at the almost wistful, faraway expression on Harry's face and sighed. Forcing a tight smile, he said, "I'm sure they miss you too. But if you want to see them soon, we need to keep moving. Come on." He inclined his head in the direction of travel.

Harry nodded, turned, and started walking again. He didn't look back at Draco, but kept his eyes fixed on the ground ahead of him. It wasn't the same sort of angry avoidance he'd exhibited earlier. Now, he just seemed too tired to argue, and perhaps a bit desolate.

 _If he needs to talk to someone,_ Draco thought to himself as he fell into step beside Harry again, _doesn't he realize I'd listen?_

Draco was debating whether or not to say that, when Harry spoke first.

"Cedric gave me the password to the bathroom so that I could figure out the clue to the second Triwizard Task."

Draco looked at Harry, hoping to read something from his face, but Harry was still looking straight forward with the same dejected expression as before.

"Those golden eggs that we got from the dragons in the first task... they contained the clue for the second task. I was trying to figure it out, and Cedric gave me a hint… told me to take a bath with it."

Draco stared sideways at Harry as they walked, almost stumbling over a root. "Is that all? Such a huge deal over something minor like that? Harry, the whole school knew about those stupid eggs! I overheard Diggory's egg screeching in a deserted classroom one afternoon while he was trying to figure it out. Why the hell did you have to make such a fuss over that?"

Harry's voice was very soft as he answered. "I don't like to talk about Cedric. Or the Triwizard Tournament."

Some subtle shift in Harry's tone of voice caught Draco's attention. His eyes widened a bit. "Why?"

If anything, Harry's voice became even quieter. "Because that's when everything went to hell." He glanced up sideways at Draco, looking at him meaningfully, as though trying to communicate the rest of the story without saying a word.

In the back of Draco's mind, the few nebulous facts he had about the events of that year began to weave together. His father had told him that the Triwizard Tournament was to be a particularly grand event, but as usual, he hadn't graced Draco with a detailed explanation. _You don't need to know_ why _, Draco, and the less you know, the better off you shall be._ That's how it always was with his father: never any good details. Besides, Draco had found enough entertainment that year to leave little time for idle wondering, and as usual, the pieces of the puzzle had passed under his nose, unnoticed. Harry as a fourth Champion. His successes over older, more experienced students. The mysterious disaster at the end of the tournament, coinciding with the Dark Lord's return. It was all too convenient.

"You were set up, weren't you?"

"I was used. I'm always being used. Even the people on my 'side' use me. Why should Voldemort be any different?"

Not quite sure how to respond to that, Draco blinked twice, then said slowly, "Er... yeah. Nice to be needed, I suppose."

Harry laughed at that. It was a harsh, emotionless sound, and it made Draco shiver. "' _Kill the spare._ ' That's what he said. There was a green light, and next thing I knew, Cedric was dead on the ground beside me. Cedric wasn't 'needed'. But if everything had gone as planned, I would have followed Cedric a few minutes later, so there's nothing special about being needed. You just get to be killed more deliberately."

Draco was suddenly quite uncomfortable with this entire line of discussion, and Harry seemed very well aware of the fact. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying it.

"That scar on my arm that you asked about... the one above the basilisk fang mark... Wormtail cut me there… and he used the blood in a spell to resurrect Voldemort's body. The plan was to use me, then kill me slowly in front of all the Death Eaters, just so Voldemort could prove that he was stronger than a boy. He wanted to toy with me like a cat plays with a mouse for entertainment before killing it."

Harry glanced sideways at Draco. "Now do you see why I don't talk about things?" he asked quietly.

"Well..." Draco hesitated. "That was over a year ago. I mean, there's more to your life than just You-Know-Who, right? Other things to talk about that won't make you close up like a steel trap?"

Harry reached up and grasped Draco's arm suddenly, whirling him around to face him. His eyes were flashing angrily behind his glasses, and Draco couldn't tell if Harry was losing control or not. It scared him. "You just don't get it, do you? Voldemort has tainted everything in my life. Every damn thing, Draco. EVERYTHING! Do you understand that?"

"I... I... yes, I... but..." Words failed him under Harry's harsh stare. He mustered up whatever boldness he had left, trying to sympathize somehow. "It's not like he hasn't influenced my life... I mean, I was supposed to serve him, and I got in far too young, and I'm stuck out here now because of –"

"Damn it, Draco! You think what you're going through now is anything to compare with the shit I've had to handle? I had to duel with him when I was fourteen! And if it hadn't been for the lucky coincidence that our wands have twin cores, he would have won!"

Draco found himself being pulled between the contrasting emotions of fear and irritation. Fear that Harry was going berserk on him; irritation that the prat always thought he had it worse than anyone else. Instead of reacting to either one, Draco said the first thing that came clearly to his abused mind. "Twin cores...?"

"I'll explain that one later. But believe me, I'd love to have nice things to talk about. Anything. But I don't. I'd like to have a normal life, but I don't. I'd like to wake up one morning and have parents, for my biggest worry to be passing my exams and finding a date, but that will never happen. And I don't have a choice about it."

Irritation was starting to win out, but then Draco realized Harry's voice was wavering. Instead of seeming to be a self-pitying, egotistical Gryffindor, Harry looked small and scared. The layers that he'd kept wrapped around himself ever since they'd first arrived in the dungeons were unravelling.

Harry visibly swallowed. "I've finally accepted that my life doesn't belong to me, but I haven't accepted that I'm going to lose it to him. And maybe I'm an idiot for this, but I trust that you're not going to send me back there."

"I..."

Before Draco could react, Harry reached over and snatched the dagger from his belt. Draco yelped in surprise and threw his arms up to protect himself, finally certain that Harry had truly cracked and was attacking him, but Harry did no such thing. Draco peeked out from behind his arms, to see Harry holding the dagger out to him, handle-first.

"Take it," he said flatly.

Draco dropped his arms in surprise. "What?"

Harry reached out, grabbed Draco's right hand, and forced the handle of the dagger into it. Draco's fingers automatically gripped the handle, and as he did, Harry pulled his hand so the tip of the dagger was aimed directly at Harry's throat.

"Do it. Go on."

"Harry –" He tried to drop his hand, but Harry pushed it back up. "Harry, what the hell are you doing?"

"Proving a point." Harry glanced down at the tip of the blade. "No pun intended."

"And what sort of asinine point is that?" Draco almost cried, once again trying to lower the blade.

Harry pushed Draco's arm up again. He shook his head. "Just do it. You've stabbed me with it before. Do it again. Do it right this time."

Draco stared along the length of his arm, down the blade, to Harry's exposed throat. Images superimposed themselves, unbidden, over the perverse sight. It was Voldemort's blade aimed at his own throat. It was his wand aimed at Harry. It was Harry, trembling with adrenaline, right in front of him, daring him to do the unspeakable.

A sound caught in Draco's throat, something between a gasp and a sob. He took a decisive step backwards before Harry could stop him, lowered the dagger, and placed it firmly back in its sheath. He almost dropped it, he was shaking so badly. When he looked back up, Harry staring back, searching him with his eyes.

"So...?" Harry asked, letting the question hang in the air.

"So what?" Draco responded shakily.

"I told you that I'd rather take my own life than let Voldemort take it."

Draco's eyes widened as he remembered the rest of Harry's words. _I'd even rather let you kill me._ "Harry... I'm not... it's just... I can't..."

"I trusted you not to kill me, and I trust that you're not going to send me back."

A small whimpering sound escaped Draco.

Harry took a small step closer to him. "The question is... do you trust yourself?"

Draco tried to open his mouth, but he couldn't even get that far. Lips pressed firmly together, he answered with a nod.

"Are you strong enough to make it back home?"

Draco nodded again.

Finally, Harry's face broke into a relieved smile, and he sighed audibly. Then he did something that surprised the hell out of Draco. Harry stepped in close and threw an arm over Draco's shoulder as though sheltering him, face to face, foreheads tilted together. His expression was friendly, but dead serious.

"Then we're going to make it home."

Draco looked back at Harry, unsure about the sudden closeness, but at the same time feeling that if Harry removed his arm, he'd fall. Instead of breaking down the barrier between them, Harry had simply stepped inside it, and the thoughts Draco had been holding back all day were there for Harry to see, raw and exposed.

"Harry... in that vision… with You-Know-Who... Merlin, it was awful... He told me that if I turned you in... if I gave us both up, he'd let me live... and if I didn't, he'd... he'd –"

"I know, Draco. That's how Voldemort works. He manipulates people. And I'll make a counter-offer. You don't let him have me, and I'll not let him have you. Is that a fair deal?"

Draco froze. Harry must have felt him tense up, because Harry's face immediately creased into a frown.

"Draco...?"

It wasn't that he didn't want to tell Harry the whole truth; rather, he just couldn't bear to do so. How could he tell Harry that he might not be able to stop Voldemort from reaching him? What were the chances of finding a counter-curse in time? But on the other hand, if he turned Harry over to Voldemort, there would be no chance of Harry surviving. Remembering the dagger, Draco knew he couldn't hurt Harry again; that he couldn't just give up. Harry had already made that point. If handing Harry over was worse than killing Harry himself... there was no way in hell he could do it. But that didn't change the fact that Voldemort already had Harry, in essence.

"Draco, he can't touch us out here."

Draco flinched, knowing just how false that was, but Harry pressed on.

"He can scare you, but he can't hurt you. He stopped combing the forest for us because he thinks you're going to give in. You were strong enough to leave in the first place. You're strong enough to resist him now."

"I left," Draco whispered, "because I was scared. I'm scared now."

"So am I."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

Harry smiled. "I'd be stupid if I wasn't a bit scared."

Draco managed a ghost of a smirk. "You didn't look scared while you were in the river, splashing like a damn fool."

Harry chuckled. "I figure that seeing as I'm stuck out here, I might as well make the most of it. I'll get you in the water eventually."

The smirk broadened. "Not likely, Potter."

"We'll see about that." Harry's grin turned devious, and Draco couldn't help but be amused.

Draco also couldn't help but realize that, despite the oddness of it all, he wasn't uncomfortable with being so close to Harry. On the contrary, there was just something comforting about Harry's presence; something about him that made Draco believe he could be just a little bit stronger with Harry to lean on. Something that made Draco not want to let go.

Draco's smirk softened into a quiet smile. "Deal."

Harry leaned back a bit and looked at him questioningly. "What?"

"It's a deal. I won't let him have you." He shrugged. "Besides, what good is a promise if it stops when the situation changes?"

Harry's eyes lit up, but he kept his face calm. "Are you sure you can do this? I have no idea what Voldemort might try next. The situation might change again."

Draco took a deep, slow breath. "Then I'll just have to be ready for it. Besides, if you've been handling You-Know-Who for years, I ought to be able to take a little bit of it, right? Can't let you show me up again, can I?"

Harry broke into a full smile. "That's never going to change." He stepped back, finally removing his hand from Draco's shoulder. "Quidditch season starts in three weeks, and I fully intend to make up for missing last season."

The spot on Draco's shoulder where Harry's hand had rested felt strangely cold now in its absence, and Draco found that he missed the contact. Still, the Quidditch challenge hung in the air, and Draco folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head. "We'll see about that, _Potter_ ," he drawled, drawing out the name for effect.

"Sounds like a challenge," Harry said deliberately, mimicking Draco's pose.

"Good guess."

"And if we want to battle it out, we'd better get back in time." He jerked his head downstream. "Come on. Let's travel while the daylight holds out. I think the clouds are thickening, too."

Draco unfolded his arms and looked up. Harry was right. The low overcast was turning darker, and it couldn't be later than mid-afternoon. "Great," he mumbled. "We're going to get drenched."

"Maybe," Harry said as he started to walk again. "Maybe not."

Draco fell into step beside him. "And you tell me where we're going to find shelter out here?"

Again, Harry smiled. "Hermione taught me a water-repelling charm to use on my glasses, for when I played Quidditch in the rain. She taught me most of the useful things I know, come to think of it. I think the charm will work on other stuff too. I could try it on the cloak."

Draco started to smile at the thought of a portable, water-resistant shelter, when something else hit him. "WAIT A MINUTE! You know a water-repelling charm, and you didn't think to tell me _before_ we went running through the river? My feet were cold and wet for _NOTHING_?"

Harry grinned back at him, sheepishly. "Oops."

*********

Dusk had fallen, bringing with it a torrential downpour. Harry had found a dry spot of high ground beneath some trees before the rain became too heavy, and after a few failed attempts, had successfully charmed the Invisibility Cloak into a waterproof shelter. From the top, the shelter was completely invisible, hiding the occupants. From the inside, propped up with sticks, the cloak looked like a child's attempt to construct a camping tent. In the middle of the tent, Harry and Draco sat back to back, leaning on each other, listening to the rain beat down on the trees around them.

Harry found it strange, sitting so close to Draco, but the contact was comforting, as isolated as they were from the rest of the world. Draco's back was warm against his own, and he felt that he wasn't quite so alone, that he had someone he could lean on. Even if it was Draco. But even that didn't seem so bad anymore, especially as Harry learned more about his travelling companion.

Harry listened to Draco talk about his mother, paying attention to each word, to the tone of Draco's voice, heavy with regret. Harry had asked for Draco to tell him about Narcissa, and it was odd to hear Draco do so; he spoke about her in an entirely different way than he did his father.

"Mother isn't terribly fond of children. If Father hadn't demanded an heir in their marital contract, she probably would have rendered herself sterile with a contraceptive potion the day before she married. She hardly saw me until I was six or seven years old, when my nurse had trained me well enough for Mother to be able to put up with me." Draco paused for a moment, and Harry felt as well as heard him take a deep breath.

"It was okay, though. It's just how things were supposed to be. I had more playthings than I could count. I spent plenty of time with my friends whenever my parents entertained, which was almost every night, it seemed. Especially during the summer. I wasn't allowed to dine with company until the summer I turned twelve, so I spent all sorts of time with Vincent, Gregory, Blaise, Marcus, Theodore... and even Millicent and Pansy, if I had to."

At this, Harry chuckled.

"What?" Draco asked tersely.

"Nothing. It's just that I'm not used to hearing them all be referred to by their first names. It's almost like they're real people." Harry considered this, and quickly corrected, "If you take my meaning, of course."

Draco laughed in turn, his back shaking against Harry's. "Would that be like 'Ron' and 'Hermione'?"

"Something like that," Harry answered, smiling to himself. "So, your mother...?"

"Oh yeah, that," Draco said sullenly. "She liked to show me off, but she wasn't demanding in the same way as my father. As long as I made her look good in public and didn't bother her too terribly, she didn't much care what I did. I would have liked her to pay more attention to me, but she didn't much care for Quidditch, and I was more interested in impressing my father. I'm sure that somewhere, deep down, she was proud of me, and she loved me. She didn't want me to go to Durmstrang, but I think that had just as much to do with wanting me to continue the family tradition – attend Hogwarts and get sorted into Slytherin – as it did with wanting me close to home. She did often tell me that I'd do the family name proud. She wanted the best for me. Whenever my father would yell at me, she'd always be standing nearby to stop him if he got carried away."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "And just how 'carried away' did he get? Did he ever...?"

"If you're going to suggest that he hit me, don't even think about it. Corporal punishment was beneath both of our dignities – and don't start going on about the house-elves again, please. Whether or not you think a Death Eater is capable of it, yes, my father is a very reserved and controlled man most of the time. Dignified. He demands respect. He wanted me to learn to be like him, so he'd be angry when I stepped out of line. But he gave me everything, he really did. Sure, I always wanted more, which was probably my biggest fault, and he was right to try to break me of it... not that I listened willingly... or often. The worst he ever did, though, was lock me in the dungeon that one time – and yes, I did deserve it, so please don't get into that discussion again, either."

Harry held in a silent chuckle, amused that despite the short span of time they'd spent together, Draco already knew what would provoke a reaction from him. "I didn't plan on it."

Draco's back jerked once in a short laugh. "Sure, Potter."

Harry smiled to himself again. He could also tell when Draco was going to call him "Harry," and when he was going to call him "Potter." It was amusing.

"So, it's your turn," Draco continued. "I get to ask a question."

"Name your poison," Harry said evenly.

"You tell me about _your_ family."

Involuntarily, Harry tensed up. "You already know what happened to my family."

"No, Harry," Draco said, a bit impatiently. "I mean those Muggles you live with. Do you kick them around, keep them in their places at wandpoint?" He snorted a laugh. "Or do they kiss your arse willingly?"

"Oh yeah, they kiss my arse, all right," Harry said bitterly. "Just like Voldemort kisses yours."

At this, Draco's back shuddered and went slightly rigid against Harry's. "Oh?"

"They hate magic. It's a dirty word, as far as they're concerned. They hated my parents. I think my aunt was jealous of my mum. Mum could do magic, Aunt Petunia couldn't. My aunt was convinced that my grandparents favoured Mum, and she was bitter about it."

Draco snorted.

Harry turned slightly and looked over his shoulder. "What?"

"I'll tell you when it's your turn to ask me a question. Don't you go dodging now. We agreed."

"Fine, be that way."

"I will. So, they hated your parents, but you're still a wizard... they could hardly do anything to you, could they? I mean, you and they both knew that someday you'd be able to do things for them, or _to_ them, depending –"

"Ha, that's funny," Harry cut him off. "I had no idea I was a wizard until I got my Hogwarts letter. They didn't tell me; didn't want me to know. They hated me, though at the time I didn't really knew why, and they did everything possible to keep me away from the wizarding world. They figured they could squash the magic out of me if they made me miserable enough, so that's what they tried to do."

"Wait... you... had no idea?"

"No."

"But you were famous!"

"It's nice that the rest of the world forgot to tell me about that little detail. It was an insane shock to the system after the way the Dursleys treated me."

Harry let that hang in the air for a moment, feeling Draco's back pull away from him slightly. Harry looked over his shoulder again to see Draco hunched over; he appeared to be hugging his knees.

"What did they do to you?" Draco's question was barely audible over the rain.

Harry considered how much he wanted to say. "Let's say that I have a sincere sympathy for house-elves."

"Details, Potter. We agreed."

Harry sighed and leaned back a bit, subtly trying to take a bit of comfort and warmth from Draco. "Okay, pushy. They used me like a house servant, and kept telling that I should be grateful to them for their hospitality. I had to serve them their meals before I could sit down and eat, and by the time I did, my enormous glutton of a cousin had already eaten almost everything." He took a deep breath.

"They told me my parents had died in a car crash. That's where they said I got my scar, too. Hagrid told me the truth, actually, when I turned eleven. Brought me my Hogwarts letter himself because my aunt and uncle kept throwing them away. He was the first person to treat me like a human being... which, by the way, is why I wanted to throttle you whenever you insulted him."

He felt Draco nod. "Go on."

"Haven't I said enough?"

"Nope."

Harry stared into the deepening shadows through the transparent cloak, watching the motion of the trees as the rain pummelled the leaves and the wind buffeted the branches. The storm reminded him of the night he'd first met Hagrid; the first night when he'd felt there was some hope of a future for him. It seemed like another lifetime, so far from where he was now. Back there, in a cage, but a safe one. Back when the world had suddenly begun to look like a beautiful place, full of promise. Back before he had realized that he was being taken out of one cage just to be thrown into another... and the new one contained bigger monsters than the spiders from his cupboard.

That was something which seemed almost too personal to admit, especially to Draco, who hadn't even been civil to him for a week yet, and certainly couldn't be considered a friend. But at the same time, he was curious to see Draco's reaction. And this seemed as good a time to tell him about it as any. Squashing his remaining reservations about revealing one of his most private secrets, Harry squared his shoulders and stared out blankly into the storm.

"I could say that being in a cell wasn't such a new experience for me."

Draco sat straight up. "The Muggles had a dungeon?" he asked incredulously.

Harry almost laughed, but not quite. "No, not a dungeon. But they did have a nice cupboard under the stairs that served as my bedroom for almost a decade. And whenever they didn't want to deal with me, they would lock me in there. For hours, sometimes. It wasn't too bad, because at least while I was in there, I didn't have to deal with them, either."

There. His big secret, out in the open for Draco Malfoy to dissect and insult. For a moment, Draco said nothing.

"Draco...?"

"They kept you in a _cupboard_?"

"When I wasn't doing housework."

"But that's how we treat _house-elves_!"

"Now do you see why I have a bit of sympathy for them? Besides, your father locked you in a dungeon."

Draco suddenly pulled away from Harry, grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. "My father punished me _once_ , Harry." Facing each other in the near-darkness, Draco's face was angry and serious, but his voice was sympathetic. He held Harry's gaze for a moment, then looked away. "I hate Muggles," he growled.

"Why _do_ you hate them so much?" Harry asked. "All I ever heard out of you was 'damn Muggles this' and 'filthy Mudbloods that.' Why?"

Draco looked up at him without raising his head. "Those Muggles treated you like dirt, and you're defending them?"

Harry scowled. "Not them. But Muggles in general. They're not _all_ like that."

Draco looked down at his hands. "This is _not_ a good topic."

"Tough luck. I want to know."

"Okay," Draco said slowly, "but what I'm going to say is just the way it is. Don't try to change my mind, don't try to argue with me, and I'll explain."

Harry tipped his head in concession.

"Fine then," Draco said flatly. Although he didn't sound the least bit interested in broaching the topic, he seemed resigned to it, and started in directly.

"Muggles and wizards are two different cultures that have no business mixing. They've tried to wipe us out for centuries, and because of them, _we_ have to hide ourselves. _We_ have to be careful about what we do so the Muggles won't see us. Every Mudblood or half-blood only increases the risk of us exposing ourselves, while at the same time, they dilute our culture. And I don't even see why we should have to worry about exposure. We're clearly superior, so why should we have to tiptoe around them as though we were intruders on _their_ world?

"I hate having to accommodate people who aren't _really_ wizards. The half-bloods _themselves_ aren't so bad, because at least they have _some_ wizarding upbringing, but even then, there's a mixing of cultures. And obviously, one of their parents was a Muggle... and why the hell would a witch or wizard even _want_ to marry a Muggle? I don't understand it. The Mudbloods, though, _they_ don't have an effing clue about who we really are. They arrive at Hogwarts without a clue of what they're getting into, bringing all their Muggle stuff with them. It has no place in a school of magic!

"And then there's the core of the matter. Even if you can teach a Mudblood the basics of wizarding culture, a non-pure-blooded witch or wizard _can't_ be as powerful as a pure-blood; it's just not possible. Granger may be a damn bookworm, but that doesn't mean she has any real power... nothing she could pass on. And the more mixing there is, the weaker the bloodlines will become. If we keep intermarrying, letting them invade our culture, soon we'll have nothing left, and everyone will be born as Squibs.

"So that's why I hate them. Well, the main reasons, anyway." Draco looked up. "Are you going to argue with me now?"

Harry considered this for a moment. He'd promised he wouldn't argue, but he'd said nothing about stating the facts. "Voldemort is a half-blood."

Even in the darkness, he could see Draco's expression become visibly strained. "Tell me you're joking."

"His mother was a witch, his father was a Muggle. His mother died in childbirth, and when his father discovered that she was a witch and that his son was a wizard, he sent his infant son, Tom Riddle, to an orphanage. My guess is that he's been nursing a grudge ever since. That's what this whole fight is about. A personal vendetta."

Draco closed his eyes, and Harry could just barely see his mouth twitch in a pained expression. He couldn't know what Draco was thinking, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

"What's your favourite colour?" Draco asked suddenly.

"What?"

"My turn for a question." Draco opened his eyes, but his expression was unreadable. "What's your favourite colour?"

Harry regarded him for a moment. They hadn't covered many easy topics, and if Draco had reached his limit for the moment, Harry could concede. "Red," he answered easily.

Draco snickered. "Gryffindors." He leaned in close, as though trying to appraise Harry through the almost nonexistent daylight. "You'd look better in green."

Harry let loose a short laugh. "Oh, so you're saying I'd make a good Slytherin?"

"Not a chance." Draco's face split into a wide grin. "But really, red isn't your colour."

Harry shrugged it off. "Okay then, what's yours?"

"Blue."

"That simple?"

"That simple."

Harry laughed again, and this time, Draco joined in.

"Favourite food?" Draco asked easily.

Harry had to consider this for a moment. "You know, considering everyone kept forcing it on me during my third year, you'd think I'd be sick of it, but I'll have to say chocolate."

"Milk or dark?"

"Definitely milk chocolate. Dark chocolate is too bitter."

Draco put on his best thoughtful expression. "Hmm, I prefer the dark chocolate, myself."

Harry smiled easily and leaned his cheek on his hand. "Maybe you're just bitter."

"You might have a point there. Raised under high-pressure circumstances with a distinct lack of shagging. I have every right to be bitter."

Harry slid his hand up over his face, glad that the darkness was covering the blush he was sure had blossomed across into his cheeks. "I didn't ask about your sex-life, Malfoy."

"Which is fine, because I don't have one."

"I do have a different question for you, though."

"I don't think so," Draco said, folding his arms across his chest. "It's my turn to ask. I just told you what type of chocolate I like."

"Yeah, but I didn't ask you that question... you just assumed I was going to and answered it on your own, so it's still my turn."

Immediately, Draco shot a scowl at him. "I hate you."

"So you've said." Harry laughed lightly. "Which brings me perfectly to my question. At the beginning of first year, why _did_ you try to make friends with me?"

Draco's face fell. "What made you think of that all of a sudden?"

The low, tense tone of Draco's voice caused Harry to raise an eyebrow. "It's not really 'all of a sudden'. I've been wondering for a while. For the longest time, I figured it was just a case of you needing to prove your superiority, needing to control everything. Either that, or your father put you up to it."

Draco didn't move for a moment, then he sighed and turned away, his back towards Harry.

"Father didn't put me up to anything. He told me that I wasn't supposed to look 'less than fond' of you, but I think he assumed that I'd just avoid you. He should have known better."

Harry found himself scratching at the back of his head in slight confusion. "Well, you certainly did appear 'less than fond' of me. In fact, you were downright malicious most of the time."

"Yeah," Draco said roughly. "That was the problem. See, nobody had ever refused me. I figured, I could make friends with you, and then I'd have you on my side. It all made sense at the time."

"What made sense? And you still haven't told me why you wanted to have me on 'your side' in the first place."

Draco mumbled something that Harry couldn't hear over the rain.

"What was that?"

"I was jealous, okay?"

"Jealous...? Of what?"

Draco's voice was still soft, but it didn't waver. "Of you. You were famous. People said you were powerful. Everyone talked about you. I can't remember a time before I knew who you were. I swear, my father talked about you more than he talked about me. Or to me. You had the one thing I wanted, and you didn't even know it: my father's attention."

Harry stared blankly into the last grey shadows of the storm. "I never wanted all that. Any of it."

Draco snorted. "I know that now, but that didn't matter. You still _had_ it. And I didn't. Basically, I wanted to be your friend because you were famous, and you had everything I wanted. If I managed to get you, then maybe I could have what I wanted too. Don't you just love the logic of an eleven-year old? And I just assumed that you, like everyone else, would find me impressive enough to take me up on the offer. You were famous, I was rich, we're both from old blood... I figured it was a sure thing."

"I'm not from 'old blood'. My mum was Muggle-born."

"Didn't matter. Your surname is as old as mine, and your fame made up for the rest of it." He laughed dryly. "You can't imagine what it felt like. Snubbed by Harry Potter, bested by a Weasley, and scorned by my father because I couldn't even hold myself above that sort of petty bickering."

"Well, you didn't do much to fix the problem along the way."

Draco made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a harsh laugh. "Malfoys are infamous for holding grudges."

"I'm glad you got over it," Harry said softly.

"What can I say? You're very persuasive." Draco paused. "My turn. Why did you keep walking away from me today? When you knew perfectly well that you had to stay within a short distance of me to stay safe?"

Harry felt himself smile before he meant to. "Come on, Draco. Even you're clever enough to figure that one out."

"Humour me."

"I wanted to be sure that you _would_ follow. That I could trust you to stay with me when the choice was as simple as whether or not you'd let me go too far."

"Why take the risk?"

Harry's mouth twisted into a frown. That was the real question, not the first one. Draco knew perfectly well _what_ he had been doing, but it wasn't even quite clear to Harry himself _why_ he'd done it. It wasn't a risk he should have taken, not even a risk he'd really _wanted_ to take, but he'd had to try it. He stared off into the darkness, pulled his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms around his legs as he thought it through.

"Because eventually, it's not going to be so easy," Harry said slowly, feeling out the explanation even as he said it aloud. He wrapped his right hand over his left and squeezed, pulling his knees closer to himself. "What happens when we've been walking for a week? Two weeks? However the hell long it takes for us to get back to Hogwarts? If you're stressed now, what happens when it's been days or weeks since you've had your hot food, warm bed, and running water? And it'll be even worse if Voldemort keeps harassing you, which, I hate to tell you, seems pretty likely. I've got to rely on you for my life right now, and I'm so aware of it that it almost makes me ill to think about it. I needed to see if you'd stick to your word. I wanted to just believe you, but I had to see it for myself now, rather than wait and risk finding out the hard way in a week."

There was a long pause before Draco's voice cut low and quiet underneath the rain, sounding closer to Harry than it had been before. "What if you had been wrong?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but he found himself shaking slightly, and was afraid that his voice would crack. He took a deep, calming breath. "I trusted you. I just needed to see for sure whether my trust was misplaced."

"And your conclusion?"

"I still trust you."

It wasn't that he'd meant it as anything but a simple statement, but when his own words reached his ears, they felt strange, as though they rang true right to his core. He shuddered and started to squeeze his hands tighter together, trying to pull his knees closer to himself to ward off the peculiar chill working its way through him, then stopped. Eyes wide in the darkness, he pulled his hands apart, then brushed the fingers of his right hand along the raised, loopy scars on the back of his left hand. The same words he'd written day after day in detention the previous year. The words that Draco had called "Dark magic." Harry shuddered again.

No denying that it was true; on some level, he really did trust Draco. Even without the scars on the back of his hand to confirm the fact, he would have known anyway. Trusted his promise to bring them both home safely, trusted the sacrifices he'd made. In truth, he trusted Draco with his life. Not that it was the wisest way to place his trust, based on past experience, but he had placed it, and it felt right.

And he did trust that Draco would bring him home alive.

Harry pulled his hands completely apart and shifted his posture. In the process, he moved just a bit closer to Draco. It was starting to get cold, and the contact as they'd sat back-to-back had been nice. Not that he was going to reinitiate any physical contact himself.

"My turn," Harry said softly. He glanced to the side where Draco was sitting, even though it was now too dark to see anything useful, but he thought Draco nodded his consent. "Are you afraid of death?"

He felt Draco turn to look at him. "What kind of question is that?"

Harry shrugged into the darkness. "Just an honest one. I've been surrounded by death for a long time, but I don't often talk about it. So I wanted to ask. Are you?"

For a long moment, the only sound was the rain and the wind. Harry thought he might have heard a rumble of thunder, but decided it was only his imagination.

Draco made a soft noise before he spoke. "Yeah, I'm scared." There was another pause, shorter this time. "Are you?"

Harry nodded, mostly to himself. "Of course. But... I think there are things I'm more afraid of."

"For example...?"

"Losing to Voldemort. Letting him win. Watching my friends die. I think, though... I think I'm most scared of being alone."

"Really?" Draco's response was thick with disbelief.

Harry forced a rough chuckle. "I've been pretty independent for most of my life. I had to rely on myself when I was younger, because I didn't have any friends. At least, none that Dudley wasn't sure to scare away as quick as possible. I got to Hogwarts, and suddenly, there were people who cared. It was so different, and it took some time for me to get used to it, but I liked it. I don't think I would want to be alone again. Out here... so far from everything and everyone, it _is_ beautiful... but it's so isolated."

The night air suddenly seemed much colder, and Harry pulled his feet in close and wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to ward off a shiver. With nothing but the rain and darkness all around him, he really did feel alone, but he was damned if he was going to say anything more about that to Draco.

Harry closed his eyes and imagined he was returning to the Gryffindor common room, unexpectedly. Ron and Hermione were miles away, but he could see their faces, shocked at his sudden reappearance after having been missing for weeks. Ron would look like a freckled fish, mouth opened in amazement. He'd blink a few times to make sure he wasn't dreaming. _Ha... Harry? You're... you're back!_ Hermione wouldn't even hesitate, and Harry would find himself with a face full of bushy hair as Hermione tackled him in a rib-cracking hug. _Harry! You're alive! Oh, but I knew you would be! You're an incredible wizard, you really are. I knew you'd escape, oh, I just knew it! How did you do it? Ron, close your mouth, you look like a fish. Harry, sit down, you must be exhausted. Now, tell me everything!_

Harry blinked, and realized that something warm and wet was leaking from the corners of his eyes. He mentally thanked the fates that it was too dark for Draco to see his face.

"You okay, Harry?"

Harry's eyes went wide, and he turned towards Draco, but it was so dark that he couldn't even see which way Draco was facing. Surely Draco couldn't see the stress on his face? Harry swallowed past the tightness in his throat.

"I'm fine."

Draco made a sceptical sort of noise. Harry waited for him to say something else, suddenly needing to hear a voice, even Draco's, just to reassure him that _somebody_ was there. To know he wasn't alone. But Draco didn't speak.

Harry dropped his head and began to turn away again when he heard a scuffling sound. Then he felt something soft fall lightly across his shoulders.

Draco had slid over to him and had wrapped half of his cloak around Harry. Harry sat frozen in surprise as Draco settled himself, adjusting the cloak, making sure that Harry had enough of the cloth tucked around him to keep him warm. When he stopped, they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, leaning lightly against each other.

Harry was afraid to move, stunned by Draco's boldness. Not that he wasn't appreciative – it was comforting, really – but what was he supposed to do? Sitting back-to-back had been different: more distant, somehow. This felt... close.

"Wrap the cloak the rest of the way around, would you, Harry?" Draco asked softly, his voice startlingly close to Harry's ear. "It's getting cold out here, you know."

Although he wasn't quite sure how he'd managed to move, Harry nodded and soon had the cloak tucked tightly around his legs and torso, overlapping with Draco's half. For several long moments, Harry hardly dared to breathe, focusing all his attention on not moving, for fear that he'd push Draco away. It was certainly an unexpected comfort, but it was a comfort.

"I'm not trying to attack you, Harry, I'm just trying not to freeze."

"Oh... right... sorry," Harry mumbled, as he tried to relax. He hardly moved, however, as warmth began to fill the space underneath the cloak. He hadn't realized how cold it had been until then.

"Besides," Draco continued suddenly, as though he had never paused, "I don't like being alone either."

It was then that Harry stopped completely focusing on his own body, and realized that Draco was sitting just as rigidly as he was. Feeling his own nervousness fade a bit, Harry let himself laugh as he nudged Draco to the side with his shoulder. "Don't worry, Draco. I won't tell anyone. Wouldn't want to ruin your reputation."

Draco sat back upright and gave Harry a light shove back. "Reputation? What are you talking about, Potter?"

"Big, tough bloke who doesn't need anyone, brave and independent in the face of... oh wait, never mind. Almost forgot the Dark Forest incident from first year. You screamed like a girl."

Harry quickly ducked, but still didn't manage to avoid the hard shove Draco dealt him. Laughing openly now, he shoved back, and was rewarded to hear Draco actually laughing too.

"Hey, at least I wasn't foolish enough to stick around. That whole Gryffindor stupid… er... _bravery_ thing."

"Sure... whatever you say," Harry muttered as he settled back down, once again brushing shoulders with Draco. This time, he didn't feel the least bit uncomfortable. He sighed, then yawned. "I suppose we ought to get some sleep."

"Probably a good idea," came the easy reply. "Lot of ground to cover tomorrow."

"Yeah," Harry said, but he didn't move.

Neither did Draco.

For several minutes, they sat still, listening to the pounding rain, the moaning of trees as they bent in the wind, and the distant rumbling that Harry now felt certain was thunder. Despite their exposure and the fact that they were in the middle of nowhere, out in the middle of a storm, and hidden by nothing but the darkness and an Invisibility Cloak, Harry couldn't help but feel safe. He was warm, dry, and definitely not alone. And yes, he did trust Draco. It didn't even seem so strange, after all.

Harry mused that if things had been different in the past, he might have found Draco to be… not absolutely awful. Now, Draco's company seemed almost pleasant. He was interesting, at least. Surprisingly sincere. And now that things had relaxed between them, Draco really wasn't such a bad travelling companion. Almost like a friend, whereas a year ago, or even a week ago, Harry might even have preferred to be stuck in a room alone with Voldemort than with Draco Malfoy.

Harry sighed deeply at that stray thought. Voldemort wasn't going to let up on the two of them, and Draco certainly wasn't going to have an easy road ahead. Still, if Draco faltered, Harry silently promised that he'd be there to help Draco through it. After all, they were on the same team now. They had a common enemy and a common goal. Harry still needed to rely on Draco if he wanted to get home, and if Draco needed to rely on Harry for some moral support, then that's what Harry would give. Draco had already given everything he had.

It might have been Harry's imagination, but he felt as though a gust of cold wind had gone clear through the cloak and even through his skin. He shivered deeply and scrunched the cloak higher around his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" Draco's voice broke through the darkness.

"Just thinking. I think too much."

"What are you thinking about?"

Harry opened his mouth, but stopped short. Knowing full well that he couldn't share all those thoughts with Draco, he merely hung his head and said, "Home."

"Mmm."

Suddenly, Harry felt something warm and smooth settle around his neck. He started. "What the…?" Something else, something heavier, thudded lightly against his chest, tugging at the thing around his neck. Then he felt a hand close over the object on his chest, patting it a couple of times.

"You hang onto that for now, Harry."

"What is…?" Harry reached down and grabbed the thing that was hanging against his chest. Even in the pitch blackness, he recognized the shape of an old Muggle compass. The Mislocator. "Draco, why –"

"I figure, this way, even if I want to chicken out, I can't. Like you said… Dark Forest incident." Draco chuckled softly. "This is a forest, and it's plenty dark. I just don't want to risk a repeat performance, okay?"

"Draco… are you sure?"

"Do you have to ask? Besides, it's such an ugly thing. Clashes miserably with my clothes."

Harry felt a wavering smile spread across his face, accompanied by a warm feeling. "Yeah. Okay. I'll hang onto it for you, then."

He felt Draco nod. "Good." Draco paused for a moment. "I don't much feel like sleeping, do you?"

Harry shook his head. "No, not re–" He was interrupted by a wide yawn. "Really," he finished.

"Nice try. Here." Draco shifted underneath the cloak, once again turning his back to Harry. "Lean against me, and get some sleep."

Harry looked briefly in Draco's direction before another yawn overtook him, and he turned around, leaning his back against Draco. "Thanks, but what about you?"

"I'm sure I'll fall asleep eventually. Don't worry about me." A pause. "That is, unless I'm suddenly possessed by a Dark wizard in my sleep."

"And then…?"

"And then don't worry anyway. As long as I know I've got the Great Harry Potter for backup, I'll be confident that no harm can befall me."

Harry had to laugh as he readjusted the cloak around his shoulders. "Sure, I'm a regular old good-luck charm. That's why death and destruction just seem to follow me wherever I go."

"Well," Draco said thoughtfully, "we can't all be perfect."

Harry laughed again softly and closed his eyes, leaning his full weight comfortably against Draco's back. Draco was warm behind him, and the even rise and fall as he breathed was reassuring. Outside, the storm raged on, but it couldn't touch them. It was the best Harry had felt since the night he'd left Gryffindor Tower.

He sighed, letting the memory sink into him, softening as he felt himself drift towards sleep. "Goodnight, Draco."

"Goodnight, Harry," Draco responded, and Harry knew he was smiling.

*********

_Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road.  
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go.  
So make the best of this test, and don't ask why.  
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time.  
  
It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.  
I hope you had the time of your life.  
(~Green Day)_

 


	12. Mountains and Valleys

 

The sun was high overhead, casting a brownish-green hue through the trees. The shade may have appeared cool, but it offered little protection against the midday heat. The thick foliage under the canopy seemed to have stopped all traces of breeze. Warm, moist air clung to the skin, and the trek out of the valley was steeper than it had appeared. Hot days, cold nights and vicious terrain. Time and fatigue had long worn away the thrill of escape, and had left them with nothing but the bleak reality of the situation: they still had a long way to go. For two days, Harry had traded off the lead with Draco, neither wanting to be the one to make the cruel decision to veer south up the mountains as the valley had trailed off slowly to the west. Finally, on the third morning, Harry had made the call, which had permitted Draco to partake in his favourite activity: complaining.

For once, Harry grudgingly felt that Draco had a right to complain. After three days of trudging through the local landscape uninterrupted, Harry had to admit to himself that he was becoming sick of it, too. Not that he was going to let Draco know. Still, despite Harry's own fatigue, it seemed that Draco was faring far worse than he was.

Harry sighed deeply as he used the trunks of saplings to pull himself up a steep incline, and glanced over at Draco, whose face was shining with exertion. The greenish tint from the trees only made Draco's poor colouring appear worse, and the dark circles under his eyes made him look physically abused. Harry suspected that even if Draco had been less fatigued, he still wouldn't have had an easy time climbing a mountain. He really wasn't the outdoor type. Harry was still feeling the after-effects of his captivity, and was more than willing to maintain a slow pace. Which, in a mixed blessing, gave Draco just enough wind left over to talk. He was rather good at talking, Harry supposed, depending on one's point of view. When Draco had finally exhausted his complaints, which took the better part of an hour, he returned to his seemingly interminable list of random topics.

"When I was six years old, my nurse told me there were fairy rings up north here."

"Really?" Harry asked automatically, knowing that Draco was going to elaborate regardless. It had become a pattern over the past two days. Draco would begin with a grandiose pronouncement about some obscure magical thing. Harry would then feign nonchalance, but would really listen intently as Draco revealed yet another fascinating titbit about the wizarding world.

There was surely a lot to learn; things far beyond the transfiguration tricks Harry had memorized and completely different from Hermione's world of books and parchments. There was an entire depth of the magical world which Harry hadn't realized existed. It was about seeing everything in terms of magic first, physical second; something that Harry still hadn't fully grasped, even after more than five years in the wizarding world. The perspective was enthralling, and Harry found himself wishing that he'd been raised like that, to understand things in a way that he knew he'd never fully grasp now. He could _almost_ understand why some people would want so desperately to ensure that all wizards and witches were raised _by_ wizards and witches, and the desire to keep Muggle influences away.

Almost.

If nothing else, he could listen to Draco now, and try to learn what he could. Besides, talking seemed to keep Draco going.

"Well, she really _told_ me that, but I always figured Matilda was just an old bat. She liked to tell stories," Draco explained as he ducked under a branch. "Fairies like warmer climates than this, and I've never heard of a reliable sighting of a true fairy ring. Hence the term 'fairy tales', if you ask me."

"And you brought this up why?" Harry asked neutrally.

"Don't really know – watch your head – but I guess the landscape here looked like how she'd described it, and it just reminded me."

"Aha!" said Harry as he dodged another low branch.

"What?"

"If the landscape is making you think of fairy rings, then you must be starting to like it." Harry smirked back over his shoulder at him as Draco batted the branch out of his way.

Draco's expression fell flat. "Don't push your luck. This damn molehill is more than enough mountain. I hate this. ' _We have to climb out of the valley_ ,' you said. Why the hell couldn't we have just waited until the valley ran its course?"

"Because last time I checked, we were trying to reach Hogwarts," Harry said lightly. "And for that, we have to travel south, not west."

"The valley might have turned south again." Draco snorted. "Gryffindors. No patience."

"You know as well as I do that there was no sign of the valley turning south. I just hope we haven't gone too far off course already."

"We haven't." Draco paused for a second, then scowled sullenly. "I want my broom."

"Well, let's see your best Summoning Charm, and we'll be at Hogwarts by nightfall."

"Shut up, Potter," Draco said, but his voice was tired, not malicious.

"Just kidding, Draco."

"I know. So was I."

Harry hung his head for a moment. Every so often, Draco would say something in that exhausted tone. It sounded so hollow, not even like Draco's own voice, that it made Harry want to shiver. He didn't know why it bothered him so much.

Harry observed Draco critically as they manoeuvred through a small hillside ravine. He really wasn't having an easy time of anything, and Harry supposed that he'd been fairly resilient, all things considered. He'd had no more true visions, but Harry had awoken several times each night to Draco moaning and whimpering pitifully, caught in some rather nasty nightmares. Draco claimed he couldn't remember any details, and Harry had let it go at that. He knew what it was like to be on Draco's end of the situation. The last thing he had wanted was for people to plague him with questions; therefore, he wouldn't inflict it on Draco. In all honesty, it was really bizarre to watch things happening to Draco that usually only happened to himself. It also left him feeling oddly guilty. As though he actually cared. Which he did, he had to admit. Maybe.

It was strange though. Regardless of their truce, their cooperation, and even the fact that they were sleeping back-to-back under the same cloak each night, something wasn't quite right about this almost-friendship. In the absence of immediate danger, Harry was finding himself thinking sometimes about exactly _who_ he was travelling with. True, Draco had taken a very decisive step away from his old loyalties. Yet the nagging sense of caring Harry had developed was rivalled by an underlying distrust that he couldn't quite shake. He couldn't fully believe that Draco had completely severed his loyalties in such a short time.

Draco was still loyal to his father; he'd said so. He was also plainly terrified of the man. That made Harry just a bit nervous. Then, there was his face. It was still Malfoy's face: the same face he'd known from Hogwarts, which sneered and scowled and smirked maliciously, impossible to ignore. Yes, Draco smiled and even laughed, and it seemed authentic... but it still felt out of place. And finally, every so often, Draco would say something odd, in an unreadable tone of voice – that hollow tone he'd just used – as though he were hiding something from Harry. That made Harry the most uncomfortable of all.

Despite Harry's discomfort with the situation, he had no real choice in the matter. And really, Draco wasn't that unpleasant. All things considered, they seemed to get along quite well. Exceedingly well, actually.

And perhaps that was the real problem. He and Draco Malfoy weren't _supposed_ to be friends. But for all intents and purposes, that was what it felt like. It was a very convincing feeling, too. Sometimes, he almost felt as though they'd been good friends… very good friends… for a long time. It was completely wrong, but right now, it was what they both needed. No sense in upsetting anything now.

"So," Harry continued as casually as he could, "tell me about fairy rings?"

Draco rolled his eyes theatrically, forcing Harry to hide a snicker. "Demanding, aren't you?"

"You brought it up. It's only fair for you to finish the topic."

"Fine. But only if we get to stop for a breather. This hill will be the death of me."

"There are plenty more where this came from."

"Yes, but if we don't stop and rest, I won't make it to the next one." Draco grabbed a small sapling and pulled himself up another step. "And what in Merlin's name would you do without me for company?"

Harry stopped just short of Draco and studied him critically. "Well... I suppose there would be more biscuits left for me..."

"Potter!"

"Relax, Draco," Harry said easily as he leaned backwards against a tree. "I guess I must need you around for something. I mean, without you, who would carry my biscuits?"

Harry didn't have time to duck before the travel pack hit him in the face. He caught it awkwardly, laughing as Draco glowered.

"That's what we're supposed to have house-elves for. To carry my things for me," Draco muttered. "And you had to let mine go."

"Well," Harry said slowly as he rummaged in the sack, "we needed to get word to Dumbledore. Who knows? Dumbledore might be hot on our trail somehow. He could find us any minute and you could be lying in your nice warm bed by tonight." He reached into the travel sack up to his shoulder, rummaging for one of the remaining roast-beef sandwiches. "And how the hell does food stay fresh in this thing? I'd meant to ask you, but I forgot."

Draco snorted. "I'm not going to get into a fight with you about Dumbledore, but whatever you say, I still don't put that much faith in him... for anything. And the pack has a food-preserving charm on it. Biddy would have put the charm on it while she packed it. I just wish she'd packed some sort of main course besides sandwiches. Maybe some roast chicken. If this hill doesn't kill me, the lack of variety in our food surely will."

"Aaaahaaaa," Harry said slowly as he dug out a sandwich.

Draco snickered. "I wonder how Muggles manage to keep food fresh. Must be impossible... and rather smelly."

"Actually... they use refrigerators," Harry said simply as he handed a sandwich to Draco.

"Refrige–what?"

It was Harry's turn to smirk. "These large box-like things that keep food cold or frozen, so it doesn't go bad. You have to plug them into an electrical outlet to make them work, though, so I suppose that wouldn't do us much good out here in the middle of nowhere." He stuffed a large bite of the sandwich into his mouth.

"Eklecric-what?"

Harry smiled around his sandwich, swallowed, and launched into an explanation of the most fundamental Muggle technology. By the time he was done, Draco had become thoroughly engrossed in watching a beetle crawling across a rock, and Harry had finished his sandwich.

"So, you've got to admit," Harry prodded, "some of this stuff is pretty clever. No magic, and they manage to do all that."

Draco grunted noncommittally.

"Just admit it, Draco. Muggles _can_ be rather clever."

Without glancing up, Draco replied, "Okay, so maybe Muggles are just far enough north of stupid to make up for _some_ of their other shortcomings."

"Yup." Harry adjusted the strap of the pack on his shoulder.

"But..." Draco looked up at Harry mischievously. "Can they do this?"

Before Harry could move, Draco had flicked his wand at the tree above him. There was a sudden _WHOOSH!_ overhead, and before he could react, Harry found himself buried in a mound of leaves up to his neck. For a long moment, he didn't move, glaring at Draco, who smiled at him sweetly, the picture of innocence. Then Harry glanced up briefly to observe the naked tree above him. When he finally opened his mouth to tell off his travelling companion, he burst into a fit of sneezing. Which only made Draco laugh.

"You should see the look on your face!"

"I swear, Malfoy, I _will_ get you back for this."

"Whatever you say, Potter."

"I say get me out of this shit," Harry said flatly.

"Only if you promise not to kill me. I've already got one magical maniac out for my blood. No need for another."

" _Draco_..."

"Fine. You're no fun."

But even as he spoke, Draco was obviously struggling to suppress a grin, which matched the one threatening to spread across Harry's face. Harry had discovered that Draco had a bizarre mischievous streak which seemed to appear at the most random times; it was unexpected, but refreshingly enjoyable. He'd had no idea about that side of Draco. And Harry had to admit, it was things like that which made him feel like they were actually friends. It came so naturally, and Harry really wasn't quite sure what he thought of it.

A few minutes later, they were moving again, this time with Draco in the lead. Harry was still pulling leaves out of his clothes as he walked.

"Maybe from the top of this ridge, we'll be able to see Hogwarts in the distance," Draco said thoughtfully. "I mean, the North Tower is really tall, right?"

"Not that tall, I don't think."

"Oh."

Another few minutes passed.

"Harry... do you really think Dumbledore will find us?"

Harry thought about that carefully. "I don't think he'll give up until he does."

"Oh."

"Are you afraid the biscuits will run out?" Harry asked lightly, but in a way which would let Draco know he was opening the conversation for any worry Draco might have. He waited as Draco kept walking stoically onwards, not once glancing back.

Finally, barely audible over the crunching leaves, Draco said, "No."

Harry grimaced at the undertone of Draco's voice. "We've only been travelling for four days –"

"Four and a half. Almost five."

"Okay, almost five. I mean, either Dumbledore will find us, or we'll get there on foot. Not a problem. That is, unless you're worried about being late for class, but if that's the case, we've probably already bankrupted our houses of points for tardiness."

At that, Draco visibly cringed. Harry cocked his head in confusion. That was one of those odd things which made Harry wonder what Draco was hiding. Every mention of time seemed to cause an odd reaction in Draco. It was as if he were in a rush, but didn't want to show it. Certainly, they both wanted to get home, but Draco was behaving very strangely. Harry was so busy trying to figure out Draco's peculiar reaction that he ran face-first into a low branch.

"OUCH!" He staggered back holding his forehead.

Draco glanced back with a bemused expression. "Adding another scar to the collection?"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

Harry's stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. "No," he said coldly, and stopped rubbing his forehead.

Draco nodded, his face becoming unreadable, and turned back to watch where he was walking. Harry rubbed again at the rapidly forming lump on his forehead.

"By the way, Harry... has your scar been hurting at all lately? I mean... you said it hurts when You-Know-Who –"

"Voldemort."

" – is angry. Has it been? Or dreams? I heard you used to get dreams from him."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but caught himself and frowned. "Actually, no. It hasn't hurt since that first night. Why?"

Draco shook his head without looking back. "Just curious."

Harry tried to figure out what Draco was getting at. "Maybe the Mislocator blocks him somehow...?"

"Think about it, Harry. If that were true, then he wouldn't have been able to reach me."

"Oh. Well... maybe it's the distance. We're getting farther away."

"Potter, do you think before you speak?" Draco snapped, glancing back over his shoulder for a brief moment.

"Yes! I'm trying to figure –"

"Then think about what causes it to hurt. You've told me yourself."

Harry stopped short with his mouth hanging open. Here he was, being lectured by Draco Malfoy about his own scar. _Scarhead._ He sighed and started walking again. "When Voldemort is angry or –"

"There's your answer, genius."

"You're saying that Voldemort isn't angry?" Harry snapped as he swatted a branch aside. "That's ridiculous. I'm sure he's just as furious with our escape as he was that first night, and he's just refusing to let us know how angry he is. Biding his time. Probably trying to shake your confidence. Or to confuse us."

Draco shook his head. "Never mind, Harry. Maybe I'm just paranoid." His shoulders slumped. "And tired. And maybe you're right, and Dumbledore will find us. Even though he _is_ an old goat." There was no malice in his voice. In fact, it was almost becoming that hollow tone that Harry hated.

Harry tried to scowl at Draco, but only managed a tired smirk. Even though he was growing concerned about Draco's enigmatic behaviour, and just a little bit irritated, he couldn't help but notice how Draco's sarcastic sense of humour was growing on him. In a strange way, he was starting to appreciate it. Enjoy it, even. Hermione was only sarcastic when she was being contrary and trying to force him to study at a weekend. Ron... Harry wondered if the concept of sarcasm went completely over Ron's head.

Harry sighed and his smirk fell to a faint frown. _Ron and Hermione._ He'd see his friends again. No amount of wit, banter and clever sarcasm could ever replace his best friends, but thinking of them only made it hurt more. He shook his head as though he could shake the loneliness out through his ears, and looked back up at Draco.

"So... you got your breather. Tell me about fairy rings?"

Fairy rings were apparently one of those things that were the stuff of myth in both the wizarding world, and much to Draco's surprise, the Muggle world. How the Muggles would know anything about such things, he could only guess, seeing as wizards had enough trouble deciding what was real. There'd never been a reliable sighting. Still, from the unofficial reports that did exist, there were plenty of interesting theories.

"Well," Draco said slowly, "they're supposed to form in open fields, or near water, and only at night. They say a single circle has hundreds of fairies at once, flying in a slow dance just above the ground."

"Must be pretty impressive," Harry said lightly as he adjusted the travel pack on his shoulder.

"If they're real, I'm sure they are," Draco said, trying not to sound wistful.

"Too bad we'll never see one then."

Draco felt a mild flash of annoyance at Harry's casual dismissal. He'd wanted to see a fairy ring ever since Matilda had told him about the phenomenon as a bedtime story. "Well, you'll certainly never see one because you don't think they're real, so you have no worries there."

Harry looked over at him with a strange smile. "You think they're real."

"So what if I do?" Draco swallowed nervously. Most witches and wizards stopped talking about such nonsense long before they went to Hogwarts, but Harry didn't know anything about them, so he'd have no reason to laugh. Would he?

"Well, if nobody's seen one –"

"Harry, just because there have been no 'officially' reliable sightings doesn't mean nobody's seen them," Draco said flatly. "The people who report them have just never had proof, so the Ministry won't certify the reports."

"You make it sound like you wish they were real." There was a lilt to Harry's voice this time; it was hopeful.

"Who wouldn't?" Draco blurted. "They're supposed to be incredible. Some people say that being inside a fairy ring brings out your inner feelings or thoughts, and sweeps you away, almost like being drunk on the magic."

Harry was watching him carefully as he spoke, and by the thoughtful look on his face, Draco could see that he was giving it serious consideration. Then the look was quickly veiled over with a tired smirk. "Heh… I could use a stiff drink right about now."

"Now _that_ would be funny. Two mythical sights at once: fairy rings, and Harry Potter, drunk."

"I bet you're a lightweight, Malfoy."

Draco quickly cleared his throat. "Er, as I was saying… other things… hmm…" He thought quickly for any random thing he'd ever heard about fairy rings. A sudden grin spread across his face. "Some people say you can't approach one unless you're a virgin. So I guess you still have a chance, Potter."

"Well then, that makes two of us, doesn't it?" Harry said with a laugh.

Draco coughed once. "Yes, well…"

"Ha! You just admitted it!"

Draco's face fell. "Shit!"

"It's okay, Draco. I won't tell anyone… but if I ever need to blackmail –"

"Potter!"

Discussion of fairy rings led to talk of elves and gnomes. Draco found every gap in Harry's knowledge immensely amusing. Sure, Harry had pulled random charms and transfigurations out of his memory, and it was rather impressive on the spur of the moment... not that Draco would ever admit to being impressed... but it was amazing how many things that Draco had taken for granted were completely unknown to Harry. He apparently had no idea that there were four races of elves and at least eleven types of gnomes in northern Europe alone, although he didn't seem surprised to find that all the gnomes were considered common pests.

 _Annoying little buggers, gnomes_ , he'd said, absently massaging his finger.

From there, conversation shifted to various creatures found in the forest, and Draco once again found himself stuck on a topic where he was desperately lacking information: dangerous or deadly magical creatures. He almost wished he'd paid some attention to that great oaf Hagrid. It was strange, though; wherever Draco's knowledge had a gap, Harry seemed able to fill it. It was as if their experience and knowledge complemented each other's; they were stronger together than separately. Draco didn't want to dwell on the fact, but he had to admit, they made a good team.

Maybe.

There was something about the notion that they _did_ make a good team that bothered Draco. It was enjoyable. It was fun. Harry was actually a good companion. And that was why it was all wrong. They weren't _supposed_ to be like this. And in the meantime, Draco's old loyalties lay behind him, across miles of miserable terrain. Not that he would – or could – ever go back. Self-preservation, of course. But his father and mother… he knew he'd never be able to see them again, and that fact sat in the pit of his stomach like a large rock. Even worse, his father would never respect him. Those were consequences of his actions that he'd not thought through beforehand.

In essence, he'd traded his parents for Harry Potter. At the time, it had seemed like the only choice. It had to be the right decision; he _couldn't_ be wrong. Not after all he had gone through. And if he were to have to face the situation again, he knew he would make the same choice. The thing that bothered him most was _why_ he'd done it. When it all came down to the raw facts, yes, Harry had had something to do with his decision (although he wasn't sure quite what), and yes, he'd decided he didn't want to be the Dark Lord's puppet, but mostly, he'd left because he was scared. Not the best reason to do anything. In fact, it was a bloody awful reason.

As if that wasn't bad enough, there was the hopelessness of the situation. They might still get caught. And even if they didn't, it might still be too late for Harry.

Draco shook his head at the thought. In every quiet moment they'd had, Draco had been considering the possibility of a counter-curse, only to frustrate himself. He couldn't do it. Snape could. Maybe Dumbledore. But as much as he prided himself on his abilities in Potions, Draco knew he was still just a student. And his lack of a solution was proof of that. And on top of everything, he still hadn't told Harry.

With a sigh, Draco tried to push that train of thought from his mind.

"What sorts of things do you figure are out in the woods here?" Draco asked, trying to keep his tone light. "I mean, we hear creatures moving at night, but they haven't come near us. Do you suppose there's a reason why?"

"Because you smell bad," Harry said so seriously that Draco felt heat rising in his cheeks before he noticed Harry smirking.

"Arsehole. No, seriously, there has to be a reason." Draco grunted as he pulled himself up over a rocky outcropping. "Animals are bloodthirsty, mindless things that would surely love nothing more than to sink their teeth into a tasty morsel like me. Even the plain, non-magical ones, although they surely wouldn't appreciate me for all my finer attributes. You, however... no wonder you feel safe. You're probably too stringy."

"Draco, only you would find some sort of merit in being more likely to be eaten."

"Don't be jealous, oh stringy one."

"Well, if you're so juicy," Harry mused in a thoughtful tone, "and the variety of food in the pack is getting dull, maybe I could just add you to the menu. Roast Draco."

"Potter, you're one sick bastard."

"Sleep with one eye open, Malfoy."

Draco snorted his distaste and shifted the subject. Maybe they'd just been out in the sun too long, or hadn't had enough sleep, but the idea of "roast Draco" was too weird, on many levels. Even for Harry. "So, why do you really think the animals have left us alone?"

There was silence for a moment, save for the huff of breathing and the crunching of dead leaves and sticks.

"Maybe they avoid magic... the non-magical creatures, I mean. It might repel them, just like magic creatures usually avoid Muggles."

Draco considered this. "If that's true, then we're safe from non-magic creatures, but what about the magic ones? What if we run into one of Hagrid's bust-bottomed skewers?"

"Bust... what? Blast-Ended Skrewts?"

Draco gritted his teeth and nodded, only to find himself more irritated when Harry laughed.

"We won't. They were a hybrid... Hagrid bred them. We won't find them in the wild."

"Sure... unless Hagrid decided that he needed to populate the earth with them."

Harry appeared thoughtful for a moment. "No, because he wouldn't be able to bear parting with them."

That actually made Draco laugh before thoughts of other nasty creatures sobered him. "What about Hinkypunks...or Red Caps? Or vampires? Or werewolves?

"We went over all that in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin taught it... but you probably didn't care to listen to him either, did you?"

Draco flinched at the accusatory tone in Harry's voice. " _Okay_ , Potter. I asked for advice, not a lecture."

"We'll just deal with them when the time comes." Harry huffed once. "And as for werewolves, we won't need to worry about that until the full moon."

Draco almost choked – the night of the full moon was the night of the eclipse – but he swallowed the thought. "Well, we have plenty of time, then, don't we?"

"Sure," Harry said easily, just before he half-tripped over a rock.

Draco snickered. "Your beautiful landscape is tripping you up now, is it?"

Harry scowled at him. "So I'm tired. Just _try_ to tell me you're not. And speaking of creatures, maybe we'll get lucky and encounter a Hippogriff."

Caught off-guard by the sudden mental image of his last encounter with one of those beasts, this time, Draco did choke. "Are you completely mad, Potter!" He whipped around, almost stumbling himself. "I know you think they're pets, but I don't have a death wish!"

Harry chuckled, obviously enjoying the memory, much to Draco's chagrin. "No, I figure a Hippogriff could give us a ride back to Hogwarts." He grunted as he climbed over a fallen log. "Not as smooth as a broomstick, but faster than this."

Draco felt his eyes go wide. "After being slashed – almost _killed_ – by one of those malicious brutes! There is no way in the name of bloody Merlin's beard that I would be caught dead on the back of one of those beasts."

Harry shrugged. "All you'd need to do is to turn on some of that infamous Malfoy congeniality. Personally, I'd rather fly over the forest than crawl through it. Especially when we reach the Forbidden Forest. If we're going to run into any of those creatures, it'll be there. I have no idea how long we'll be travelling in the Forest itself, if we end up walking the whole way."

"Do you know where the regular forest ends and the Forbidden Forest starts?"

"And how the hell would I know that?"

"I don't know, Potter. I'm just asking. You seemed to spend a lot of time out there." Draco took a deep breath, grasped a branch, and pulled himself up another sharp incline. "Maybe we'll see it from here when we reach the top of this bloody mountain. If we ever do reach the top."

"We're almost there, you know. The trees are getting thinner up here."

Draco blinked and looked around. Harry was right. The trees were shorter, and they were more spaced out. There appeared to be a clearing up ahead.

"I'll bet that's it!" Harry exclaimed. "Race you to the top."

Draco shook his head. "Not interested. I'm already exhausted and sore. Do you want me exhausted, sore, AND bad-tempered?"

"You're already bad-tempered too, so that won't be any great loss."

"Potter!"

"Come on, it'll be like a race for the Snitch. After last year, I miss the competition."

"Not a chance."

Harry considered this. "Sure, Draco. Because, just like at Quidditch, you'd lose anyway."

Before Draco could blink, Harry had taken off up the hill, kicking up leaves at Draco in his wake. "Potter! You… that's not fair! POTTER!"

Draco took a deep breath and raced off after him. His hair flopped forward into his eyes, branches whipped against his legs, and all he could think of was keeping his eye on the red of Harry's sweater, and making sure it didn't get any farther away.

_I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, OUCH, my bloody toe! I hate this, I hate this, I'm going to KILL you when we get to the top, Potter! I hate this, I hate..._

_Oh my great dragon's egg and bloody Merlin's beard._

If Draco had had any spare breath, he would have said it aloud. From the top of the mountain, the entire world seemed to spread out at his feet. A cool breeze pushed his sweaty, stringy hair back off his forehead, giving him an unhindered view of endless mountains, valleys, and the occasional sparkle of water. The sky was a pale blue at the horizon, changing to a deeper shade directly overhead, without a cloud in the sky. It was... beautiful. And then the throbbing in his toe and the burning in his overburdened lungs reminded him that such thoughts were crazy. But still...

"I win."

Draco coughed once and looked over at Harry. Harry's cheeks had a bright pink flush, his eyes were wide, and his mouth was open in a great smile, even as he gasped for air. Despite the ache in his lungs, Draco was barely able to suppress a smile at Harry's enthusiasm. He had the same look he would get whenever he grabbed a Snitch out from under Draco's nose. It used to make Draco want to punch his face in. Now, it didn't seem quite the same.

"I wasn't racing anyway," Draco said simply. "So you won. What good does that do you?"

"It's my mountain now. Mount Potter."

"Whatever."

Draco squinted and scanned the horizon. Civilization. Safety. Not a sign of either. He felt a twinge of sadness and isolation. He'd hoped that the farther he got from his father and the more time he spent with Harry, the more those feelings would fade, but they hadn't. Once again, they flooded back fresh. Still, he knew that dwelling on it would do him no good. He forced a deep breath through the pain in his lungs. "Do you see any sign of Hogwarts? Or smoke from Hogsmeade?"

"Not a trace of either. Could be hidden by a mountain."

"Could be." Draco stood on tiptoe, knowing how pointless that was. To the visible horizon, there was still no sign of a town or people. The civilized world seemed so far away. He glanced back over his shoulder at the valley that spread out behind them. He had no idea how far they'd come, nor how far they still had to cover. He couldn't imagine that the travelling would be very fast over the terrain ahead of them. "How far is a hundred miles supposed to look?"

"Couldn't tell you," Harry said airily. "But from up here on beautiful Mount Potter, a hundred miles seems like nothing more than a mere walk in the park."

"You're nuts."

"You're just sore because you don't have your own mountain."

"My feet are sore, my legs are sore, and my head is rapidly becoming sore. I think I'm allergic to your senseless enthusiasm."

Harry's smile softened. "Well, it's all downhill for a while, and I'll guess that we'll make camp somewhere in that valley over there –" He pointed. " – tonight."

"Only that far?" Draco felt an ache of nervousness in the centre of his chest.

"I think so. Look at how thick the forest is. Slow travel. Plus, it's already afternoon." Harry jerked his head towards the valley ahead. "Might as well get going. I think I see a river down there. We'll camp near the river tonight. Maybe we can catch a fish for dinner."

"How disgusting."

"Fine," Harry said as he started downhill. "I'll have fresh food, and you can have another sandwich. I think we've got an excess of corned beef."

"Well... I... I'm not touching the fish until it's cooked."

Harry's laugh rang out across the valley.

The sun was approaching the rim of the valley by the time they made camp by the river. Draco felt torn between the need to press on as far as possible each day and the soreness and exhaustion that insisted he rest. Harry seemed tired too, and Draco knew that if he pushed the issue too much, Harry would become suspicious. So Draco sat on the bank of the river while Harry splashed around trying to catch a fish by hand. He wasn't having much luck.

"Too bad you couldn't properly transfigure a fishing stick, Harry."

"It's a fishing _pole_ , Draco – ugh!" He lunged for a fish, and again came up empty-handed. "Besides – nnynngh! – I saw bears doing this on a documentary my cousin was watching."

"And are you smarter than the average bear?"

Harry started laughing so suddenly that he slipped on a rock and crashed into the water. He continued to laugh as he pulled himself to his feet, dripping wet.

Draco furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing. It's... that was a Muggle joke," Harry choked out amid his laughter. "You wouldn't get it unless you already knew."

Curious though he was, Draco was getting a bit tired of the seemingly endless Muggle things Harry hinted at – it was like a blurry window into a world he didn't understand... or possibly a brick wall with a few missing blocks. Still, he wasn't about to appear too curious about Muggle culture, so he leaned back and sighed. "Whatever. Are you ever going to catch us a fish?"

"Of course – hold on... there's a big one... just a second... closer... URGH!" Once again, he came up empty-handed. "Damn it!"

Draco snickered. "Potter, there _is_ an easier way."

"Really now?" Harry planted his fists on his hips. "And are _you_ going to come down here and transfigure me a fishing pole? Get _your_ feet wet?"

Draco stood with a grand flourish. "Get _my_ feet wet? Merlin, no! Harry, you're not thinking like a wizard. Have I taught you nothing?" He made a grand show of clearing his throat, pulled his wand from his pocket, and aimed at the part of the river where Harry had been looking a moment before.

" _Accio fish!"_

A split second later, a large river trout was flopping around at Draco's feet. He screwed his nose up. "Okay, Harry. I got the fish. Now you get up here and cook it."

Harry didn't move for a moment, his mouth hanging slightly open, eyes glinting with a slight murderous edge. Draco didn't know whether to snicker, or to run for safety. Finally, Harry shook his head and splashed out of the shallows. "Start a damn fire, Malfoy," he said flatly. "One of those lovely smokeless ones you were so kind as to remind me how to make."

"Don't look so sullen, Harry. Not everyone can be as clever as a bear. Although your hair looks a bit like bear fur. Maybe –"

There was a sudden _WHOOSH!_ and a cascade of leaves fell like rocks from the trees above Draco, burying him up to his nose.

"Blah! P-tuey! Phfffbbttt! Potter!"

"Never show me a jinx you don't want me to learn," came the smug reply.

Draco got his arms free and pushed the leaves away from his face. He opened his mouth to swear at Harry, but couldn't quite come up with any scathing remarks worthy of his irritation. "Just get me out of here and cook my dinner."

"Would you like a side order of cheese?" Harry asked as he pushed aside some of the leaves and waded into the pile to get to Draco.

"Phfffbbbttt... damn foliage... cheese?"

"Yes," Harry said seriously as he reached out and grasped Draco's hand. "It would go nicely with your whine."

Draco was halfway hoisted out of the leaves before he understood Harry's remark. With his free hand, he grasped a fistful of leaves and lunged forward to stuff them down Harry's shirt.

"Hey!" Harry yelled, dropping Draco's hand.

Draco fell backwards into the pile, laughing hard, and immediately grabbed another handful and threw them at Harry's face.

Harry batted them away and looked at Draco over the rims of his glasses with a devilish smirk. "Oh, it's _on_ now!"

With a battle cry that sounded like a disguised laugh, he lunged at Draco.

By the time the fish was roasted on a spit over the open flame, Draco had almost removed all the bits of leaves from his clothes and hair. He'd been quite appalled to find a few in his underwear, and he did _not_ want to know how they'd got there. Still, it had been fun. A lot of fun. And Harry still had a few bits of leaf stuck in his hair... not that Draco was going to tell him yet.

Leaf fights aside, he had to admit that fishing had been a good idea. It was the first hot food they had eaten in days, and it was actually quite tasty. The night was becoming cool, but the small green fire seemed warmer than usual, and didn't cast enough light to be seen by spying eyes until after dark. It had become a comforting evening ritual: sitting around the campfire, talking about nothing. Harry really was a good companion. Friend. Maybe.

"Where did you learn to cook?" Draco asked around a mouthful.

"I used to cook for my aunt and uncle, remember?"

"Oh, right." He swallowed. "Well, it's good. I wonder if we could trap other things to eat." He suddenly sat up straighter. "I can't believe I just said that. Listen to me. I sound like a common scavenger. How... how..."

"Accurate?" Harry suggested.

"Never." Draco tipped his head to the side thoughtfully. "Well, perhaps."

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. Including the fact that _you_ scavenged this one yourself."

"I... oh no... I did, didn't I? How could I have let myself –" He was interrupted by a sudden yawn.

"Sleepy?"

"Not in the slightest," Draco said with a scowl. "Now, where the hell is my teddy bear?"

"Fishing. It was the smarter one."

"Ah, then I guess I can't go to sleep yet, can I?"

Harry smiled, which looked rather creepy in the flickering green light. "Put out the fire, Draco. We'll start moving again at dawn."

The fire was retracted into Draco's wand, and Draco began to spread the cloak out for both of them, but Harry made no move to lie down. Draco looked up at him. "What's wrong?"

"I was thinking... about what you said... about Voldemort not being angry." Harry paused meaningfully. "Do you really think that's true? I mean... what could he do to us if he can't find us? And if there were something he could do, wouldn't he have already done it by now?"

Draco had frozen in place, and it felt as though his chest had seized up. He forced a slow, painful breath. "I... it was just a thought, Harry. Like I said, I'm probably overtired and paranoid."

"No," Harry said firmly. "You seemed rather convinced. Draco, is there something you're not telling me?"

In the middle of the steel bands squeezing his chest, Draco's heart was trying desperately to beat. How could he lie to Harry like this? It wasn't right. It wasn't fair to Harry. But it wouldn't be fair to worry Harry over something he couldn't stop. And maybe Dumbledore would find them on time. And maybe Snape would have an easy counter-curse waiting when they arrived. And maybe...

"No. It's... there's nothing, Harry. I guess I'm just still scared."

Harry nodded sceptically. "Right. Just... tell me if something happens, okay?"

Draco swallowed and nodded. Harry continued to stare at him for a moment, eyes boring through Draco uncomfortably, before he finally turned away and set his attention to a rock he found.

"It's going to get cold down here tonight. I'd been thinking, maybe I could heat up a rock for each of us, and we could use it like a hot-water bottle."

Draco nodded, even though Harry wasn't looking at him. Then an odd thought struck him. "I'm warm enough with you under the cloak." As soon as he'd said it, he was mortified as he realized how it sounded. "I mean, you're... and I... and... did I offend you somehow, and you're going to sleep on your own tonight? Not that I need... but I just wanted to make sure I didn't offend you or anything..."

Draco trailed off as Harry turned his head back towards him. He was wearing the strangest expression. "No, I'm just not going to sleep quite yet. I figured you'd want some rest now, and I didn't want you to freeze. You looked really tired today."

"Oh." It made sense, but Draco couldn't shake the sick feeling that had settled in his stomach. He'd upset Harry. Harry suspected something. This was not good. Not good at all.

He pulled the cloak up around his shoulders, spread it out across his legs, and then glanced up at Harry again. Harry was thoroughly engrossed in the process of digging up a rock about the size of a cantaloupe. Draco watched him, wondering why it had suddenly bothered him so much when he had thought Harry would be sleeping on his own. Not that he needed... or even _liked_... oh hell. It was cold at night, and Harry was warm. It was dark, and Harry was reassuring. They were completely alone, and having Harry _right there_ made Draco feel safer.

Draco marvelled at the thought for a moment – that he _enjoyed_ relying on Harry – when Harry looked up from dusting off the first rock.

"Draco? You all right?" Harry's eyebrows furrowed together as he studied Draco.

Realizing what he'd actually been thinking, Draco's eyes went wide with humiliation and shock. "Fine," he huffed as he quickly pulled the cloak over and flopped onto his side facing away from Harry.

Behind him, he heard Harry sigh.

A few minutes later, there was a tug on the cloak. For a moment, Draco thought Harry had decided to come to sleep, but then he felt the roughness of the warm rock against his back. It was certainly warm enough, and under the cloak, Draco was physically quite comfortable. Physically.

He heard Harry moving around the campsite for a few moments. The rustle of fabric, the cracking of leaves. Harry seemed to be pacing, which only made Draco more uneasy. The sounds came back in Draco's direction, but stopped several feet away. There was no sign that Harry was coming any closer.

Finally, Draco fell asleep, feeling very hollow.

The darkness of sleep slowly bled into a blackness that was nauseatingly familiar. Draco might have thought he was still merely asleep, except that he knew if he was actively questioning whether or not he was just sleeping, the answer was probably no.

All doubts about his status were laid to rest when a harsh voice hissed through the blackness.

" _Young traitor. Are you still following your fool's errand? Ah, but there's no need for me to ask, is there?"_

The Dark Lord's voice froze the blood in Draco's veins. He wasn't sure if his eyes were open or closed, but he was trying to squeeze them as tightly shut as he could, desperate to block it out.

" _You can't hide from me. There is nothing you can hide from me. Even your thoughts are mine, Malfoy."_ A pause. " _What's this? Do you not like your name? You know you are unworthy to bear it. How pitiful. Your father will be shamed to hear of this."_

_Father..._

A high laugh rumbled through the blackness, cutting through Draco.

" _Is your father still important to you? You should have thought of that before. Do you still care for your mother? Yes? Ah, but then perhaps Potter is something more to you. Your father had hopes that you had been befuddled or tricked by Potter, but it is perfectly clear that is not the case. You certainly are becoming... amicable."_

More laughter. If Draco had a stomach in this bizarre non-world of the vision, that stomach was surely twisting into knots.

" _Your thoughts betray you, boy! You're defensive about him... how lovely. You wish to protect him... to be..._ close _to him,"_ Voldemort taunted.

Draco retched. He wasn't even sure what he thought of Harry, or if he and Harry were even friends, but the Dark Lord himself was tearing those nebulous thoughts to shreds. Draco imagined he was tasting bile.

" _So sad for you that he shall die, regardless. Will it break your fragile heart?"_ The voice was singsong, insulting.

Draco tried to tell himself he didn't care about Harry, that it didn't matter what happened to his companion, but the more he tried to force the emotion out of his mind, the stronger it became. It was being magnified; he couldn't think about anything else. His thoughts bounced off the blackness and rebounded back on him, assaulting him along with Voldemort's cruel laugh.

" _I look forward to Potter's death, and while I once might have regretted having to kill you, you've proven yourself useless to me. I shall kill you with relish, traitor."_

The pause felt ominous. _Why is he telling me this?_ Draco wondered, feeling slightly frantic. _I already know this. I've made my decision, I've made my decision, I've... I'm not... I'll..._ He began to feel the desperate need to grasp something solid. If Voldemort already had Harry's life, and would eventually kill Draco as well if he could, there were no threats left to make, right? Nothing else to hold over his head, right?

As if in answer to that, a glowing image started to form against the black backdrop. Draco couldn't tell if he was seeing it with his eyes, or if it was actually trapped completely within his mind, not that it actually mattered. The glow began to take a shape. Human. Female. Elegant figure. Luxurious blonde hair. A familiar dark shade of lipstick. Aristocratic features.

_Mother!_

" _Does the little boy want his mummy?"_

_Oh no... no... he can't... he wouldn't._

" _Oh, but I can, young fool. There is nothing you have that I cannot take from you."_

His mother's eyes suddenly went wide with fear, a split second before she fell to the ground, screaming in obvious pain.

_MOTHER! STOP! DON'T HURT HER!_

Draco tried to lunge for the prone, convulsing image of Narcissa Malfoy, but he couldn't move.

_It's just a vision, just a bad dream. It might not even be real. It's not real! I'm not seeing this... NO! MOTHER!_

The high laughter combined with his mother's screams, and Draco cried out in sympathetic pain. He was overwhelmed, dizzy, nauseous. Again, he retched, praying for it to stop.

Miraculously, it did. The image of his mother stopped screaming and went limp on the floor, with only the occasional sob escaping her. Draco tried to move for her again, but before he could even make the effort, Voldemort spoke.

" _She will die, traitor. She will die a slow, painful death because of you, if you do not return Potter to me within two days. You could spare her this fate. All you must do is reveal yourself. I shall find you. The longer you wait, the more she shall suffer. The time for mercy has ended."_

The laughter slowly faded, but the image of his mother remained. Slowly, she got her hands beneath her and pushed her head and shoulders off the ground. Narcissa Malfoy, so proud, so dignified, was sprawled on the ground with a thin trickle of blood running from her nose over her upper lip.

" _Draco... please, my little Draco... you used to make me so proud. So proud..."_

_MOTHER!_

" _Please don't leave me like this... please come back to me..."_

But the image was fading fast. Again, Draco tried to reach her, but he couldn't move. She was out of reach, he couldn't help her, and she was going to die.

He _could_ help her. He could turn himself in. His life was worthless. The traitor, Draco, not even worthy of the family name. His beautiful, proud mother... she needed him... she was more important...

But what of Harry? He couldn't sacrifice Harry again. Not again. He'd made a promise, and if he had _any_ honour left, he'd keep that one simple promise. He had to.

His mother had never cared much for children. She had ignored him. But she had loved him in her own way, he was sure. She must have. She _did_ love him!

_Mother! Please, Mother!_

She was going to die, and Draco was alone in the darkness, unable to reach her, unable to be reached.

He could... he had the key. He had Harry.

So cold. So alone.

Draco sank to the non-existent ground and curled up, sobbing and shivering.

He couldn't handle this. He had thought it was just about himself, but now his own mother was threatened, and it was because of him, and him alone. And he was so alone.

Then there were strong arms wrapped around him.

A familiar voice echoed in his ear. _"Draco?"_

It took him a moment to place the voice. _Harry?_

" _Are you all right? C'mon, open your eyes! I'm right here..."_

Draco was about to protest that he couldn't, because he didn't have eyes to open, when he realized that if Harry's arms were wrapped around him, he must have a body for the arms to hold. And if he had a body, he must have eyes to go with it. The arms squeezed tighter, as though Harry were physically anchoring him to reality.

It felt like leaden weights had been affixed to his eyelids, but he could move them. There was a sliver of light in the distance. Slowly, the real shadows of trees against the night sky swam into view through the unnatural blackness. Even the stars were alive and winking at him. With a sudden shock like being thrown through a glass wall, Draco _felt_ himself slam back into his physical body. He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, then another and another, desperate for air.

"Easy there," said the soothing voice in his ear. "Don't hyperventilate."

"I... what... oh Merlin's beard, Harry." He was leaning back against Harry's chest, with Harry's arms wrapped around him, holding him up.

"It's okay. You don't have to talk. Just relax and breathe easy for a minute."

Draco shook his head weakly. "No... can't... he's gonna... he's..." His voice trailed off into a series of gasping sobs. He couldn't form words to explain, and he didn't want to think about it.

"Don't worry, Draco." The arms squeezed a little bit tighter. "He's just trying to scare you. He can't touch you here. He probably realized that he wasn't scaring you enough when you said he wasn't angry earlier, so he's making up for it."

"No... it's not that... not me. It's..."

"Who?"

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but he couldn't say it. If he did, it would make it real, and it would have actually been his mother, lying there on the ground, screaming and bleeding. He bit down on his lower lip, reached up, and grasped Harry's arms hard, trying to stay grounded in reality. Behind him, Harry flinched, and Draco loosened his grip.

"You don't have to tell me right now. I know what it's like."

Draco blinked. He'd almost forgotten – no, he had forgotten – just _who_ was sitting with him. "Did your scar... you know?"

He could feel Harry nod behind him. "Yeah. I felt that before I noticed what was happening to you. That's when I realized what was going on."

So Harry had felt it. Absently, Draco wondered if Harry could see the vision too, but even as he considered it, the image of his mother burst to the forefront of his mind. Involuntarily, he shuddered.

"Draco?"

His tongue was frozen as his mother's screams echoed in his ears. He whimpered slightly and shook his head.

"That bad, huh?"

Draco looked back up at Harry. "Worse."

Harry seemed to consider this for a few moments. "You know, not everything he shows you is real."

Instantly, one of the tight steel bands wrapped around Draco's chest snapped and he could breathe again. "What?"

Harry nodded, as though Draco's reaction proved his suspicions were true. "He'll dig through your thoughts, find the things that scare you the most, or the things you care about the most, and use them against you." He growled low in his throat. "He's pretty damn good at it, too. Convincing."

"In other words...?"

"Don't believe everything he shows you."

"How do you know?"

Harry frowned. "Because he did it to me."

Not quite sure how to respond to that, Draco nodded in reply and looked away. It had been so _real._ And even if it _could_ have been an illusion, what if it wasn't? His mother needed him. He needed to help her... but he'd promised Harry. And as for Harry... what the Dark Lord had said... Sure, he and Harry were becoming companions. Friends, even. They trusted each other, but Harry wasn't _that_ important. Not like his mother.

But then, would he give Harry up for his mother?

_No. Yes. NO!_

This was too much. He wouldn't think about it. He couldn't. His whole body felt abused, as if he'd just climbed ten more mountains identical to the one he'd scaled earlier that day. Not having the energy to move away, he relaxed against Harry, taking a little bit of strength and support where he could get it.

Then something else occurred to him.

"You pulled me out of the vision."

"What?" Harry sounded confused.

"The last time... I couldn't feel anything in the vision. There was no ground, no air, I couldn't even feel my own body. But this time... I felt your arms. It was like an anchor. You pulled me out of it." He paused and chewed on his lip briefly, afraid that he sounded stupid, but at that point, he figured he couldn't look much more pathetic than he already did. He sighed. "Thank you."

Harry shrugged. "You'd do the same for me."

That surprised Draco. He hadn't really considered it. "I wouldn't have known what to do."

"Neither did I." Harry hesitated. "Just sort of went on instinct. I grabbed you and held on, and you responded. So I didn't let go."

"Oh."

Harry made an abbreviated noise, as if he had been going to say something, but had cut short.

Draco squirmed around slightly so he could look up at Harry's face. "What?"

"I'm sorry."

Now it was Draco's turn to be confused. "Whatever for?"

"For leaving you by yourself in the first place."

Draco thought for a brief moment, then with a grunt of effort, rolled sideways, and sat up to face Harry in the darkness. "What... Harry, do you honestly think that the fact that you were sitting a couple of metres away instead of right here has anything to do with You-Know-Who getting through to me?"

"Well..." Draco could just make out Harry's face well enough to see that he was chewing furiously on his lower lip. "The last time you fell asleep on your own was the night Voldemort first attacked you. Since then... well... I guess I feel like I left you to face him by yourself."

Outwardly, Draco rolled his eyes, but inwardly, he supposed it made a bit of sense. He certainly _felt_ more secure with Harry right there. But still, that couldn't really have anything to do with it.

"Harry, it was just a coincidence," Draco said, trying to sound far more convinced than he actually was. "You-Know-Who probably figured we were getting too relaxed, and we were talking about him earlier, so he just decided to rough me up again; try to scare me." It sounded fake, but it was what he needed to tell Harry. It wasn't the first time he'd lied to tell someone what they wanted to hear. And this was for Harry's own good. He reached out and nudged Harry's arm. "And as long as you're around, whether you're under the cloak, or several metres away, he can't scare me enough to make me turn around. We already agreed on that, right?"

Harry glanced up at the sky, then examined Draco critically. "Think you're ready to go to sleep?"

Draco stiffened immediately. There was no way he wanted to go back to sleep now. Whether or not Voldemort sent the visions directly, the image of his mother screaming was sure to haunt his sleep. He wasn't that sleepy, really. He'd stand watch or something. He...

Harry nodded slowly. "I didn't think so."

Defensiveness welled up in Draco. "I am _not_ incapable of falling asleep on my own, Potter. I'm just wide awake, that's all. Surely a good scare would leave anyone wide awake. I'll just stay over there and keep watch –"

He had intended to stand and walk stoically to where the campfire had been earlier, but as soon as he was on his feet, he realized that had been a bad idea. His legs were painfully stiff from the mountain climb, and the vision must have taken more out of him than he'd thought. The blood rushed from his head, and the next thing he knew, he was lying on the ground, opening his eyes, feeling Harry's hand on his forehead.

"Draco?"

With a sudden and furious rush of embarrassment, Draco slapped Harry's hand away. "Don't do that."

"Then I won't," Harry said simply.

Draco groaned inwardly. "I just stood up too quickly."

"Mmmhmm."

Harry's complacent tone grated on Draco. With some struggle, he sat up. "And I don't need your help."

"No problem."

Draco's patience snapped. _Perfect Harry Potter, always calm, always the hero, knows all the answers… damn him!_ "Why are you doing that!"

"Doing what?" Harry asked with infuriating calmness.

"I... you..." Draco raised his hands, gesturing in halting motions, teeth bared and gritted. It was Harry that was standing between him and saving his mother. His alliance with Harry was putting her at risk. It was _his_ fault... he couldn't...

Realizing that this was getting him nowhere, Draco finally dropped his hands and looked away. "Stop being nice to me. I'll be fine on my own."

There was a long pause. "Well... I figured we're supposed to be helping each other. And if I need your help somewhere along the way, I'd feel better knowing that I helped you."

Draco glanced up to see that Harry had turned away. With a huff, Draco reached over, grabbed the cloak, and started arranging it, automatically making a space for Harry as well. "Since when do _you_ need _anyone's_ help?"

Very softly, Harry replied, "All the time."

Draco felt his argument come to a screeching halt, and he sat there staring at Harry, completely floored. Embarrassment, anger, remorse, and fear pounded at him from all sides, while Harry's eyes drilled into him through the faint moonlight.

Finally, he couldn't take it any longer. With a huff, he wrapped the cloak around his shoulders and flopped down with his back to Harry. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit down hard on his lip. For a couple of days, things had been really quiet, almost pleasant. He'd almost let himself forget the threat. He'd enjoyed Harry's company. Not that he would have said it out loud, but he did consider Harry his friend now. The road ahead would be difficult, and he had known that, but it was his chosen path. His thoughts had wavered, and he'd been a bit scared, but his path had been certain.

Now... he heard Voldemort's taunting. The Dark Lord insulting his new-found friendship and loyalties. Holding threats over his head. He heard his mother's screaming. He had been so stupid, and he was so uncertain again.

And again, he felt so alone.

Draco had nearly resigned himself to a long, cold, sleepless night when he felt a tug on the cloak. He figured at first that Harry had reheated the rock, but then he felt Harry's warm back against his own. The live warmth radiating through his shirt, the rise and fall of Harry's breath; it was... nice.

Harry snuggled down underneath the cloak and adjusted it over both himself and Draco. Unsure what to think, Draco held perfectly still, as uneasy as he'd been the first night they'd shared the cloak together. He wanted to relax, but he couldn't. There was Harry, alive and warm against him... someone he'd come to know so well in the last week... someone he silently respected and appreciated... someone to whom he'd sworn a promise.

Then there was his mother. His own mother; his own bloodline.

How could he validate his loyalties?

He waited for Harry to say something, but there was nothing but the sound of the wind in the trees, and Draco wasn't ready to break the silence himself.

It was a long time before Draco fell asleep.

Behind him, Harry was wide awake, waiting for Draco say something. He was worried. What had Draco seen in his vision? Why was he so angry? What was he hiding? But Draco said nothing.

It was a long time before Harry fell asleep.

Camp was broken in silence at the first light of dawn. It was grey and dismal under a thick layer of fog. Draco seemed to be in an even worse state of mind than he'd been the night before, and Harry was in no mood to exchange edgy conversation. He'd barely slept, and when he did, his sleep had been plagued by bizarre dreams for the first time in days.

He had been in the Ministry of Magic, staring at the glass that contained time, but instead of the hummingbird, it contained a miniature moon. The moon kept phasing over and over, never quite becoming full before it began to shrink again. All around him, he heard ticking clocks. He'd looked up, and Draco had been standing a short distance ahead of him, not in a Ministry hallway, but on a wooded path at the edge of a river. He had reached into a pocket with a gold chain hanging out of it, but instead of a pocket watch, Draco pulled out that stick he'd been marking each night. It was cut down almost to a toothpick. _We're going to be late, and it's all your fault_ , he'd said. _I need to go home now. My mother called for me._ He had put the stick back into his pocket and stepped into the river. When he was halfway across, he had disappeared.

It was just a dream, not a vision, but it had been so strange that it left Harry feeling quite unsettled. He'd just fallen asleep thinking too hard, that was all. Draco had been behaving oddly, and they'd been out in the woods too long, and it was just a dream. Too much stress, nothing more. That didn't make Harry any more comfortable with Draco's presence when he'd awoken.

With a sigh, Harry returned to the task of breaking camp. He transfigured the fish bones into pebbles and threw them into the river while Draco hid all traces of the campfire. Together, they scattered leaves over the site to cover the places they'd disrupted as they'd moved and slept. The cloak was re-shrunk, but when Harry moved to slip it into the travel sack, Draco grabbed it suddenly and wrapped it around his shoulders.

Harry started at the abrupt motion, but stopped himself from saying anything. What would he say? The night chill was still in the air, and it _was_ Draco's cloak. Still, it felt like Draco was intentionally putting yet another barrier between them as he shrouded himself with the cloak and then turned his back to Harry. Harry shook his head, trying not to show how irritated he was becoming. As he shouldered the sack, Draco spoke without turning around.

"Which direction?" His voice was as cold as the air, and completely impersonal. It grated on Harry more than the silence.

Harry placed his wand on the palm of his hand. " _Point me_ ," he incanted flatly. When the wand stopped spinning, Harry started walking south without a word to Draco. He didn't look back, but listened to assure himself that Draco was actually following him. The crunch of leaves confirmed that Draco wasn't being completely stupid. At least he had enough common sense not to let himself get caught.

The surroundings slowly became lighter, and the fog lifted, but the sky remained grey and overcast. Harry trudged along, trying not to think too much. He wasn't having much luck.

After nearly a week of travelling with and growing closer to the least likely person he'd ever met – and, to his surprise, enjoying the situation – he felt as though he was back at the beginning, day one. For the first time in days, he was travelling with Malfoy, not Draco. He imagined he could feel Malfoy's eyes on the back of his neck like little prickles of ice, but when he glanced back, Malfoy was just staring at the ground as he walked. At least he wasn't tripping over branches and brambles anymore.

Harry turned back around and refocused on his own walking. The terrain in this lowland was different than in the large valley they'd left the day before. The soil was soft and almost black, and it kept sinking underfoot. The air was heavy with a cold dampness that went right through flesh and bone. Half of the trees were dead, tipped over, or missing large branches which littered the forest floor. The ground-level foliage was mostly ferns growing in patchy clumps with the occasional vine weaving its way through to provide just enough of a tripping hazard to require attention. It wasn't particularly appealing scenery, but Harry was too tired to care.

Or maybe he was tired because he didn't care at the moment.

The silence between himself and Malfoy was terribly uncomfortable, but Harry wasn't going to be the first to break it.

The cold clamminess turned into humidity as the morning progressed, and Harry pulled off his jumper and tied it around his waist. A glance back showed that Malfoy was still wearing the cloak. He snickered.

"Still cold, Malfoy?" As soon as he'd said it, Harry nearly kicked himself for speaking first.

Draco's eyes snapped up, blazing with a fury that startled Harry despite himself. "I don't need your heart-warming, Gryffindor-do-gooder concern."

Feeling very affronted, Harry scowled back over his shoulder. "So terribly sorry," he said, his voice oozing sarcasm. "Completely slipped my mind that I was supposed to be an arse. I just thought you'd be too warm in that thing."

Draco stopped short. "Should have realized, Potter knows best." With a dramatic flourish, he pressed the back of his hand against his forehead. "Oh, Potter! Would you please tell me what to wear, for I am obviously incapable of choosing my own attire! And please carry my cloak! It's so heavy for delicate little me!"

Harry stood stock-still with his hands at his sides, completely unsure of how to react to this. Malfoy was staring at him with a smirk that was far too familiar: the same sneer he'd been using since first year. Harry narrowed his eyes angrily at his old rival.

"That's _it._ Listen here, _Malfoy_ ," Harry snarled, enjoying watching Draco bristle in response. "I don't know what you saw last night, or why you've suddenly changed from a human being back into the obnoxious, spoilt prat I knew at Hogwarts, but you know what? I don't care!"

Draco almost seemed to falter, but if he did, he covered it immediately. "Oh, I'm sure you don't, hero-boy. Not that you ever really _did_. You just needed a way out of the dungeons, and I was the most convenient option."

Harry couldn't believe he was hearing this. What the hell was wrong with Malfoy? Harry _did_ care.

No, he had cared _before_. This whole so-called friendship had been a mistake in the first place, and now Harry knew why. It was nothing but a farce! It was a product of a desperate situation. Fuck, it was _Malfoy_! It always had been, and that had never really changed. He should have seen it sooner. With the way Malfoy was acting now, the bastard didn't deserve the slightest consideration. And if this was the way Malfoy wanted it, then that was what he'd get.

"All right, Malfoy, believe what you want to believe. Have it your way. Fuck this 'common goal' bullshit."

The harsh language got a definite reaction from Draco, who suddenly seemed to realize that Harry was serious. His eyes widened in surprise, and he appeared to shrink back into his cloak a little bit. _The snivelling little coward!_ This only incited Harry further.

"I'd almost started to respect you, you know that? I was stupid enough to think you could really change. But you only left because you were scared shitless of Voldemort. And now you're acting like a git because you can't take the pressure. Let me give you a clue, Malfoy. Life isn't easy! It doesn't cater to your inbred, pure-blooded arse or your perfect, uncallused hands! Life doesn't care about _you_ , or your family, or your friends, or anyone. And if you thought that because I've survived Voldemort this long that teaming up with me must be some sort of sure thing, you're even dumber than I thought."

For a moment, Draco seemed to reel, then he quickly regained his composure, and Harry knew for sure that he was dealing with just a mask of the person Draco had been for years. Only now, he really didn't care. The entire time they'd been travelling, the tension had been too great, the truce and friendship had been built on too shallow a foundation. It was no match for old anger under high pressure. As hard as he'd tried to fix things last night, as far as they'd come, at that moment, it didn't matter. Blood was pumping hot in his ears, his fists were clenched tight, and he was just _waiting_ to see what Malfoy was going to do next.

Draco took a step forward and narrowed his eyes. "And maybe you'd prefer it back in your cell," he snarled.

"You _would_ say that." Harry almost took a step closer, but he suddenly had a better idea, and took a deliberate step backwards. "And perhaps so would _you_."

The fury in Draco's face suddenly mixed with fear. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"Don't make a threat you can't handle, Malfoy."

This was absolutely insane. After how careful they'd been, after all they'd been through, Harry knew he was acting beyond all reason. It didn't matter just then. Harry wasn't trying to prove some self-righteous point. He wasn't playing mind games. He was just furious.

"If he finds you, then I'm sure he'll find me. Likewise, if he finds me, he'll find you. Only I've got a better track-record against him." Harry fingered the cord of the Mislocator as he took another step back, relishing the sight of Draco going several shades paler. "Right now, I'm tempted to take my chances!"

"Ha – Harry... don't," Draco choked out. "I... I trusted you with that!"

"And what the fuck do you know about trust?" Harry said sharply.

Draco was visibly breathing in short, shallow gasps. "I know that that's not what you want to do!"

"HOW DO YOU KNOW A DAMN THING ABOUT WHAT I WANT?" Harry roared.

"Because... because you _told_ me!" Draco was eyeing the Mislocator nervously, not looking at Harry. He didn't care what Harry had told him, Harry thought bitterly. He was just worried about saving his own arse.

"Oh, so you only listen when it suits you? You only give a shit when it _suits_ you." Harry took another step backwards, almost tripping on the soft soil. "And the second you find yourself on shaky ground, it's back to square one. _Oh world, kiss my virginal arse, for I am Draco Fucking Malfoy._ "

Draco went from pale to purple in a split second. "Why you... you arrogant, pompous, ungrateful scarhead!"

"Ungrateful? _Ungrateful?_ YOU GOT ME INTO THIS MESS IN THE FIRST PLACE!"

"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO APOLOGIZE?" Draco cried, plainly desperate.

Harry stared at him for what must have been only a few seconds, but it stretched on forever. Finally, he said in a rough whisper, "Maybe until I believe you."

Draco's mouth was hanging open slightly, and his eyes were red but dry. A day ago, Harry wouldn't have imagined wanting this, but right now, irrational emotions were enough of an excuse. He had Draco right where he'd wanted him for years: at his mercy, begging, whimpering, pathetic. Still... Draco was right about one thing. Harry did _not_ want to go back to Voldemort, and he wouldn't sentence anyone – not even Draco – to that fate.

Harry screwed his face up into a determined scowl. "The only reasons I'm not going to expose us are the fact that I have no intention of going back there, and because I'd like to think I have a shred of honour."

Draco looked slightly confused, then relieved, but suddenly his eyes went wide as Harry took another decisive step backwards. "Harry –"

"I don't care what you do. Go running back, for all I care, but I'm sure as hell not going with you. I'll survive. I'm pretty good at that, it seems." Another step backwards. His foot sank into the ground several centimetres, but he pulled it back out and regained his footing.

"Harry, wait –"

"Shut up!" Harry snapped as he stepped backwards again. "Here's the way it's going to be. You said this thing has a radius of at least twenty-five metres. You stay at least twenty of those metres away from me until you decide to act like a human being again."

"Harry, stop! Please! You're –"

"Stay out of my way, Malfoy, and I'll stay out of yours. But you're just going to have to keep up with me because I'm not waiting for you," Harry said flatly. He started to turn and stepped forward, planting his foot down firmly –

His foot went clear through the surface of the earth.

And it didn't stop. His stomach gave a terrible lurch as he began to fall. He tried to twist around in place, and he caught a glimpse of Draco's terrified expression just before the ground completely gave way beneath him.

*********


	13. Come Clean

 

"HARRY!" Draco felt his heart seize up in his chest, and the air around him suddenly seemed much colder. The earth had simply collapsed under Harry, and he had disappeared without a trace. There had been a yelp of surprise, then silence. Silence which pressed on Draco's eardrums painfully – silence which squeezed in on his already tight chest, threatening to suffocate him.

"HARRY!" The strange landscape seemed to muffle his voice, and swallow the words as surely as it had swallowed Harry. Draco took a tentative step towards the gaping hole ahead of him, but the surface sank several inches underneath his weight, and he quickly stepped back again.

"Can you hear me? Say something! Are you okay?"

Draco stood perfectly still, listening for a response. Anything. He heard something! Faint, muffled, but it was a sound – a moan. The instantaneous flash of relief that Harry was indeed alive was just as quickly overshadowed as the moan became a whimper.

" _Draco?_ " The pain in Harry's voice was so thick that it made Draco gasp.

"Harry! Are you all right?" _Of course he's not. Stupid._ Again Draco tried to step closer to the edge of the hole, and again, the unstable earth forced him back. "How far down are you? Can you climb out?"

There was a weak grunt of effort, and even from where he was standing Draco could hear strained, rapid breathing. "Stuck... there's a... a branch... log... on top. It's heavy."

Draco felt his eyes widen. A branch on top of him? How did a branch get down there? _That doesn't matter._ What mattered was the size of the branch, and how it was situated on top of Harry, and whether or not Harry could get out from underneath it. What if Harry couldn't do it himself? Draco would need to get in himself to get Harry out of there, but he couldn't even approach the edge of the hole safely until he knew something more about the situation.

"Ha- Harry... is there any sort of stable ground down there? Anything to stand on? Can I –"

"No," came the faint reply. "Like a... a crevasse. I'm kinda... wedged in. I..."

Harry's voice trailed off, and Draco's heart clenched. "Harry! Keep talking! You need to tell me how to get you out!" He waited a moment for a response. Nothing. "HARRY!"

"'M fine. Just... hurts."

"Harry, you don't sound good... you're scaring me."

"'s'okay." He sounded so distant. "Fine. Help..."

Draco eyed his path to the edge of the hole. Small pits and holes fractured the moist, dark earth. He could see rotting wood poking out of the ground here and there. Draco reached over and grabbed one of the branches and pulled. Bark crumbled against his hand, but the bough was buried solidly. He wondered how far down it extended. Perhaps it was anchored by a larger branch, or even the rest of the tree.

With that thought in the back of his mind, Draco reached out tentatively and tested the ground again. Completely unstable. He glanced around at the surrounding landscape. Half-tipped trees were everywhere, as though the ground itself was too weak to hold them. It looked like they were falling through the earth as Harry had, only more slowly. Draco couldn't be sure about the structure of the ground, or why it was so unstable, and he was well aware that what he didn't know could kill him. But if he had to take a guess, it looked as though old trees had died there, long ago, and the soil had later covered them. As though the valley had been flooded temporarily, burying the old forest in loose earth. He got the sinking feeling that the resultant ground was a honeycomb of decaying wood, soft soil, and empty spaces.

Empty spaces, just like the one in which Harry was trapped.

And if Harry could crash through so easily, the same thing could happen to Draco at any moment. Then they'd both be stuck, and Harry would never get out. He couldn't let that happen.

More carefully this time, Draco sized up the ground between himself and the edge of the hole. A little less than ten feet of pitted earth, with a couple of branches sticking out of the dirt. Harry's sunken footsteps were still evident along the surface.

Maybe if he spread out his weight, it would hold him. Even if it wouldn't, there were no other options.

"Harry, hang in there. I'm going to try to reach you." There was no reply, and even though Draco hadn't really been expecting one, it didn't make the silence any easier to take. "I'm coming."

Draco unfastened his cloak from around his neck and threw it aside. Slowly, he knelt on the ground. Moisture seeped from the soil through the knees of his trousers, and he felt his knees sink in far deeper than he would have liked. Swallowing the fear that was creeping up in his throat, he reached forward and slowly, cautiously, laid himself flat on the ground.

With his weight spread out, he didn't sink in as much. Encouraged by this, he crawled forward one inch, then another. The edge of the hole came closer. The moisture sank through his shirt, and the fabric felt damp and clingy against his chest and stomach. _Doesn't matter. Keep going._

He could see partially into the hole now. It was a narrow opening, rough-edged, and broken, semi-rotted wood jutted around the perimeter. _Just a little bit closer. Just a little bit..._

Draco grasped the soft, crumbling edge of the hole, pulled himself the rest of the way, and looked down.

At first, he was terrified to see nothing but dirt. Then he looked closer and realized that some of the dirt had hair. "HARRY!"

The lump of dirt with hair moved, then tipped back to reveal the grime-streaked face of Harry Potter. His glasses were, amazingly, still perched on the bridge of his nose, but under the lenses, his eyes were unfocused. Blood trailed down his cheek from a nasty set of scratches, mixing with the dirt. Harry's vague description had been accurate: he was definitely wedged vertically into a narrow part of the hole, like a cork in the top of a wine bottle. The top of his head was about four feet down, and that was all Draco could see.

"H'lo, Draco." Up close, Draco could tell with startling clarity just how laboured Harry's breathing was, as though he couldn't take a deep breath. Under the streaks of dirt, his skin was frighteningly pale, and his lips had a slight tinge of blue.

"Harry! Are you okay? Can you reach up for my hand?" Draco stuck his hand as far down into the hole as he could, but he could barely reach half the distance. "Reach up... I'll pull you out."

A faint smile ghosted across Harry's face, then faded. "Can't. Arms... are stuck."

Draco looked again, and he could have kicked himself for not seeing the problem immediately. A large branch, so heavily covered with dirt that it was almost perfectly concealed, and easily as thick as a person, was wedged tightly against Harry's chest. The branch forked, and one thick limb crossed over the top of his left shoulder, holding his arm down. His right arm wasn't visible; Draco guessed it was pinned between his body and the side of the hole.

Just how the branch had managed to land on Harry like that was beyond Draco's comprehension. It must have been buried in the loose ground, and had collapsed in on Harry as the earth had shifted. Regardless of _how_ it had got there, it was there now, and Harry was pinned in place.

And Draco didn't have a clue what to do next. "Don't worry, Harry. I'll get you out. Just give me a few minutes, okay?"

Harry nodded, but he didn't really seem to be focusing. His head fell forward, and ironically enough, rested gently against the very branch that was holding him in place.

A sickening sense of helplessness settled in Draco's stomach. Just a moment ago, he'd been angry enough to go to blows with Harry, and now he wasn't even sure what they'd been arguing about. It seemed so inconsequential.

_I have to get him out. I can't let the last thing between us be an argument. Not after everything we did... everything that happened... I have to get him out._

_Think, Draco. To get Harry, I need to move that branch. The branch is huge... I can't move it on my own... Weightlessness Charm. I'll use a Weightlessness Charm on the branch. Then Harry can get loose, and I can pull him out._

"Harry! If I move that branch, do you think you could reach up to me?"

For a moment, Harry didn't even move. Draco felt his eyes go wide. "HARRY! Look up at me!"

After a painfully long moment, Harry looked up again. "Mmm?"

"If I move that branch, and you could move your arms, do you think you could reach up to me?"

Harry started to nod, but then his neutral expression fell into a frown. He shook his head slowly. "I'd fall... my feet are... dangling. Branch is... holding me up. Dunno how deep... it is."

The helplessness turned into a cold numbness in Draco's gut. If Harry was dangling, that meant the hole extended far deeper than it appeared. The ground there was even less stable than it had seemed at first. For all he knew, the whole thing could collapse again at any moment.

"What if... what if I were holding you so you couldn't fall?"

For a brief moment, Harry's eyes came into focus, then faded back out. "Might work."

Draco pressed his lips together, trying to concentrate, when Harry made a small noise.

"Draco... 'm scared."

The words wrapped around Draco's throat and squeezed. Harry? Scared? Harry was never scared. But if he was...

Two green eyes, unfocused behind their dirt-smeared glasses, blinked up at him. Yes, Harry was scared. And that thought terrified Draco more than anything else. He searched for something to say, but coherent words eluded him. Harry's eyes closed again, and his head tipped forward and thudded softly against the tree.

Draco all but jumped back, and rolled away from the edge of the hole. He made sure he was at least a couple of metres away from the hole before he dared to stand. _Rope. I need rope._ He cast around, knowing that a neatly coiled length of rope was the last thing he'd find out here, but hoping for something appropriate to transfigure. Given his own mediocre transfiguration skills, it would have to be something resembling a rope. His eyes fell on a branch lying on the ground, a short distance away.

With a surge of hope, he ran to the branch. One long stick forking off of the main branch looked promising. With a mighty pull, it snapped away. As he dragged it back towards the hole, he snapped off the smaller twigs along the length of the stick. Once it was clean, he laid it on the ground in front of him and pulled out his wand.

"Here goes nothing," he mumbled. " _Ramus Verto_."

The branch shivered, but remained a branch.

It wasn't simply that McGonagall was the Transfiguration professor. There was another thing that Draco disliked about Transfiguration: effort. The entire process required a level of immediate intent and effort that Draco had never quite enjoyed. It was different from Potions. As long as he went through the proper procedures, followed step-by-step, the potion would be correct. With Transfiguration, he had to actively focus and visualize what he wanted. The desired product wouldn't just appear with the recitation of the correct incantation, and the process required more effort than Draco usually cared to give. It had seemed somewhat pointless, because all his life, whenever he'd ever wanted something, all he'd had to do was to snap his fingers and the house-elves would come running.

Plus, he really _didn't_ like McGonagall. But excuses weren't going to help him now. Excuses weren't going to save Harry.

Here, there was no house-elf.

Here, there was an immediate need.

Here, Draco had to focus, or Harry might die.

With a deep breath, Draco screwed up his face. In his mind, he could see the branch warping, twisting, becoming a rope.

" _RAMUS VERTO_!"

Immediately, the branch shook, and began to elongate. The wood twisted around itself, becoming fibrous in appearance. Draco was barely aware of his wand shaking with his own strain and effort. Finally, a long piece of rope sat coiled neatly in front of him, just as he'd pictured.

For a second, Draco felt a flash of pride, before a faint cough and a moan of pain brought him back to reality.

"Harry!"

Draco grabbed the coil of rope and rushed as close as he dared to the hole before falling to his knees. Laying himself out flat on the ground, he crawled forward until he was again looking down at the top of Harry's head.

"Harry, can you hear me?"

A weak groan was the only reply.

"Harry, I need to get this rope around you. I –" Draco stopped short. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ How could he have been so short-sighted? How could Harry get the rope around himself when he couldn't even move his arms? But he _had_ to! There was no other way. "Can you get one of your arms free? Harry?"

Harry's head tipped back up, and he seemed to see Draco. His head dropped again, and he shifted in place. Squirmed. Gasped in pain. "Can't."

Draco felt another wave of panic. "Are you _sure_?"

"'m sure." There was the strained sound of Harry taking a shallow breath. "Just... stuck. Sorry." And then he was still.

Draco's mouth hung open in disbelief. Harry was barely more than a metre away, but he was completely out of reach. Draco couldn't climb down; there was nothing to hold onto, and even if there were, that very action might cause the whole crevasse to cave in. The only places in the narrow hole where he could step were on Harry's shoulders, and on the branch itself. Adding any more weight to the branch would surely crush Harry, and he certainly wasn't going to step _on_ Harry. Using a Summoning Charm directly on Harry would only succeed in jamming Harry more tightly against the branch, hurting him more. Using a charm to move the branch would drop Harry further down the hole unless he was being held up by something else. Draco could only use a spell on one item at a time: either the branch or Harry. Neither option would work safely.

There was nothing he could do. This couldn't be happening. One minute, Harry had been there, and now – over something so simple – it might all be over. But what could he do? It seemed so hopeless.

Draco edged back a few inches from the hole, feeling a hollow sort of pain beginning to lodge itself deep in his chest. He couldn't do this on his own. But for the first time in his life, he _was_ on his own. And nobody was going to come to his rescue. _He_ was supposed to be the rescuer. _He_ was responsible for Harry's life.

And then Draco felt a tugging on the leg of his trousers.

He looked down, and almost screamed at the sight of the most decrepit rat sitting by his foot, staring at him. The rat didn't move for a moment, but then as suddenly as it had appeared, it grabbed the end of the rope and scampered into the hole.

Shocked, Draco pulled himself back to the edge of the hole and looked in. The rat was perched on Harry's shoulder, and seemed to be trying to find a way down around Harry. Harry was completely unresponsive, and Draco supposed that it was just as well, considering the likely identity of the rat.

The rat paused for a moment and regarded Harry. It almost appeared sad. Then it looked down to the side, grasped the end of the rope tightly in its mouth and, with a frantic scramble, disappeared again. Draco waited, holding his breath. Several agonizing seconds went by, then several more. The rope disappeared a centimetre at a time with jerks and tugs, and Draco started to feed the rope down the hole, trying to help. Finally, the rat re-emerged on the other side of Harry, still pulling the rope behind him. Draco could tell by where it had come out that it had managed to thread the rope under Harry's arms and around his back.

Tugging furiously on the rope, the rat scrambled up the side of the hole, using the large branch to assist its climb. The rope caught twice, and the rat almost dropped it the second time, but it held on and continued its frantic ascent. Finally, it came close enough for Draco to reach.

Draco fought back disbelief as his fingers closed around the rope. As soon as he had a hold of it, the rat raced back out of the hole and ran off, disappearing under a pile of leaves, just as it had done several days before. For a moment, Draco felt a flash of anger as Pettigrew abandoned him to the task of saving Harry by himself. But then, the rat-of-a-man could have just as easily done nothing. And perhaps he'd done enough.

Focusing back on the task at hand, Draco tested the rope. It was securely tucked under Harry's arms and around his back. Draco grabbed the longer end, and quickly looped the short end around it and tied a simple knot. He tugged on it, and when he was sure it was secure, he slid the slipknot along the rope as far as possible. A solid tug on the long end, and the loop was snugly fastened around Harry's chest. Harry hadn't reacted at all throughout this process, not even a twitch, but Draco couldn't think about that now. If he did, he might crack, and he knew it.

Praying to whatever gods might be listening, Draco shimmied backwards from the hole. Once he was on safe ground, he ran to the nearest tree with the long end of the rope. He took out as much slack as possible and quickly tied a knot. Then he tied another knot on top of that. And one more, just to be on the safe side.

Feeling a thick lump of nervousness congealing in the pit of his stomach, Draco approached the hole again. He walked as closely as possible towards the hole without having to crawl. From there, he could just see the top of the branch, which came closer to the surface than Harry's head. There was no time to hesitate. He took a deep breath, focused, and aimed his wand.

" _Mobiliarbus_!"

The branch shivered, shook, and then it moved. Around it, soil crumbled in place and fell. It wasn't enough.

Draco's wand was still trained on the rotting piece of wood. He tightened his focus, strengthened his intent. The branch shifted more, but he could _feel_ that it wouldn't be enough.

Desperation flooded through him. He'd failed at too many things already, and damn it, he was _not_ going to fail at this too!

" _MOBILIARBUS_!"

There was a rumbling sound, and the branch pushed its way back against the side of the hole until it became embedded in the soil, then deeper and deeper back from the hole and away from Harry. Finally, it stopped, stuck as surely as a fly stuck in tree sap. Draco stared at it, amazed that so much force had come from his own wand. He'd done it. _Just wait until Harry sees... HARRY!_

Draco lunged for the rope, and pulled. And pulled. The rope came far too slowly for Draco's liking, but finally, a filthy but familiar head of hair peeked over the edge of the hole. Harry was free. Bracing the rope with one hand, Draco aimed his wand with the other and whispered, " _Wingardium Leviosa!_ "

Levitation Charms had never been his strongest suit, and he'd certainly never levitated a human being before, but empowered with a new sense of confidence, Draco easily manoeuvred Harry's inert form out of the hole. A few seconds later, he lowered Harry onto solid ground and rushed to his side.

"Harry, are you okay?" He gave Harry's shoulders a quick shake. "C'mon, Potter! After all that, you're not going to give out on me! Harry!"

Harry lay still, sprawled on his back, head tilted to one side. Unresponsive. _No. Absolutely not... not now. He's fine. I'm sure he's fine. He has to be fine._ Draco stared at Harry for what felt like an hour, but must have only been a few seconds. Panic was beginning to set in when Harry's mouth moved. He gave a short gasp, then a cough, followed by a moan of pain. And then bright green irises were peeking out through filthy glasses.

"Potter?"

"Draco," came the weak but coherent reply.

A tight smile tugged at the corner of Draco's mouth, but he couldn't relax. He was shaking with nervousness and pent-up adrenaline. Everything had happened so suddenly, and although it was now over, Draco was almost afraid that if he so much as blinked, Harry would still be stuck down that hole. That if he did anything, moved, reached out and touched Harry's sleeve, Harry would disappear. Draco swallowed, keeping his eyes wide open. "You... you're all right," he said, more trying to convince himself than anyone else.

"And you're filthy."

Draco finally blinked, and looked down at the front of his clothes, which were indeed saturated with nearly black dirt. And Draco realized that, amazingly, he didn't care. In fact, he found it amusing. In a rush of relief, Draco couldn't tell if he wanted to cry or laugh, so he settled for the next best thing. "You're not exactly sparkling clean yourself, Potter."

Harry coughed weakly and closed his eyes. "Thanks."

Draco tried to laugh, but only managed a convulsive exhalation. "Any time." He placed a hand lightly on Harry's arm. "And while I'm at it, I'll point out that your hair is a mess, but that's nothing new."

"No... I mean... thank you." Harry paused, then opened his eyes. "Thanks for pulling me out."

Draco felt his stomach jump slightly. "Hey... it's no problem."

"I... wasn't sure... wasn't sure that you would."

Staring down at Harry's prone form – muddy, bruised, and almost broken – Draco couldn't understand how Harry could suggest such a thing. "Harry, why would you say that?"

Harry's eyes closed again. He looked so tired. "Fight," was all he said.

In contrast to Harry's sprawled, drowsy appearance, Draco was suddenly sitting rigidly upright, eyes painfully wide open. He'd _really_ almost forgotten about the fight, although it couldn't have been more than a half hour ago that he and Harry had been insulting and threatening each other as maliciously as they'd done back at Hogwarts. As soon as Harry's face had disappeared beneath the crumbling surface of the earth, however, the _real_ danger had completely overshadowed the fight. After seeing Harry survive captivity, after escaping alongside him, after tasting the elusive, bittersweet edge of this strange new friendship –

Was this a friendship?

Draco looked at Harry again. His breaths were shallow and pained, and his lips still had a bluish tint to them underneath the layer of dirt. Concern welled up, but it wasn't so surprising this time.

"It was just an argument," Draco said offhandedly.

One of Harry's eyes opened a crack, appraising Draco, then fell shut again. "True, I suppose," he said thoughtfully.

Draco was just starting to feel pleased with himself, and to relax, when he noticed that Harry's face had gone slack again. "Harry? Harry!" He gripped Harry's arm tightly. "Hey, don't go falling asleep on me! You've got to tell me what your injuries are!"

Harry seemed to come around, and he opened his eyes, just slightly. "Chest hurts. I think I... bruised ribs. Can I rest? So tired... wanna sleep."

Somehow, that didn't sound like a good idea. "No, Harry, stay awake... at least until I use some healing charms." Draco began fishing through his sack for his knife.

"Why?"

"So you can tell me if the healing charms work." He pulled the knife out. "Sorry about your jumper, Harry. I'll fix it afterwards." And with that, Draco grabbed the hem of Harry's jumper and cleanly sliced it from his waist to his neck. The T-shirt immediately followed, exposing Harry's chest. Hideous bruises were already darkening across most of Harry's pale chest, and Draco winced in sympathy for the pain that Harry must be feeling. But something else stood out more, resting on the centre of Harry's breastbone.

The Mislocator.

Harry had the Mislocator. Without it... well... without Harry, Draco would never make it. He needed the Mislocator. But the thought hadn't crossed his mind once. Even though the Mislocator had been central to the fight they'd had only minutes ago, Draco had actually forgotten that Harry was carrying it. Even now, staring at ancient-looking compass, Draco was only able to dwell on it for a second before anxiety spurred him back into action. He pulled the device aside to reveal an even deeper bruise where the branch had crushed it against Harry's chest with enough force to nearly break the skin. The skin there was dark reddish-purple, and Draco could barely imagine how bad the underlying damage must be.

Draco certainly knew which charms to begin using to heal bruises and scratches, and he quickly set to work on the surface injuries, while wondering just how much of Harry's body was bruised. Still, he didn't know much about deeper healing without potions. He'd memorized a few charms, but he'd never needed to use them. "How's that feel, Harry?"

"'Bout the same."

"The scratches and some of the bruises are disappearing."

"Hurts deeper." Harry reached up and pressed his hand lightly against his own chest, coughed, and grimaced. "I hate feeling like this."

"Like what?" Draco asked, still feverishly working on the surface bruising.

"Weak. Helpless."

"You're not weak," Draco replied automatically.

Harry snorted in response, which only resulted in a grimace of pain. He took a slow, controlled breath before speaking. "I'm lying on the ground, flat on my back – ouch, easy there – and I can barely breathe, much less move." He smiled bitterly. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I actually wish I could see Madam Pomfrey right now. No offence."

"None taken," Draco said as he tapped yet another bruise and watched it melt away under the tip of his wand. "And you're talking more. Good."

"It's a distraction."

"From what?"

"From the fact that I feel extremely exposed right now."

Draco spared a glance up at Harry's face. Harry's eyes were open and directed at some point in the far distance over his head, as far away from his bare chest as possible. Beyond his obvious physical discomfort, he looked... embarrassed. Draco gave a soft, sympathetic smile that he knew Harry didn't see. "Don't worry, Potter. I won't tell the girls how skinny you really are."

"That's not what I meant! I don't care what –" Harry's outburst was reduced to a moan of pain, and he suddenly became more pale.

"Harry?" Draco leaned forward, hoping to discern _something_. "What is it?"

"Nothing! I'm fine! I –" Harry made a move to sit up, and it became immediately obvious that moving was the last thing he should have done. He collapsed back against the ground, breathing shallowly. His skin changed from pale to a sickly shade of grey. Draco placed the back of his hand against Harry's cheek; it was cold and clammy.

"Harry, stop playing the hero! Damn Gryffindor, you're injured! Tell me what's wrong!" Draco was caught somewhere between impatience and frantic worry. How could Harry be so stupid? Was he trying to make his injuries worse? But at the same time, there was something admirable about the way Harry always wanted to hide his weaknesses, whereas Draco... he quickly brushed aside guilty memories of Hippogriff-related melodrama. He had more important things to think about – such as the fact that Harry seemed to be going into shock.

Draco gripped Harry's arm hard. "If you want me to help you, Potter, you _need_ to tell me what's wrong!"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, then opened them blearily. "Don't need... ouch... told you... ribs... I..." His eyes lost focus and closed, and his head tipped to the side.

If he'd thought logically about it, Draco would have sat back, considered that Harry probably had bruised or broken ribs, and aimed a basic healing charm deeper than the skin. He might have even attempted a bone-mending charm that he'd seen in his copy of "First Aid for the Active Wizard." But logic had escaped Draco at the moment. Instead, he reached out and rested his hands softly on Harry's chest. He almost pulled back in alarm when he felt what he thought was a sharp edge along what was supposed to be a smooth length of bone, but he squelched his reaction as quickly as it arose.

At some point, years ago, maybe he'd read something about this in some obscure text. Maybe he'd seen it done. Maybe not. Some simple healing technique, more basic than the complex spells used in modern magical healing, more general than the ailment-specific tricks used by professional healers. Draco had no idea _why_ he was doing what he was doing, but right then and there, it made sense, and that was all that mattered.

Focused completely on Harry, Draco felt more than saw a warm sort of light begin to glow under the palms of his hands. He closed his eyes, and in his mind, he could picture that light sinking into Harry's chest, wrapping itself around each bone, strengthening and soothing. He saw the bruising and swelling fade away, replaced by the glowing heat. He was even sure he saw – and felt – the broken ends of bones fusing together, whole lengths of bone where there had been fragments. The light grew and spread before slowly dissipating, leaving nothing but a slight warmth and a shimmer in its wake.

It was only then, as the last of the light faded, that Draco realized what he'd done, or tried to do. And he felt absolutely foolish. He wasn't a healer! What if it hadn't worked? What if he had just made a fool of himself? Or worse, what if his stress and adrenaline had caused him to try something completely asinine, and the warmth and healing were just figments of his imagination? He suddenly felt very awkward, afraid to open his eyes.

Then he noticed that he still hadn't removed his hands from Harry's chest. Nor did his hands seem inclined to obey his order to pull away. He had to look.

More than a little bit nervous, Draco opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was Harry's face. Just as it had been a moment ago, his face was still covered in dirt, and a few tiny traces of blood. Draco frowned, disappointed, but not sure exactly what he was looking for. He looked closer, and blinked in surprise. The scratches had disappeared. And instead of the pained expression that had twisted Harry's features, even while unconscious, he now appeared to be sleeping peacefully. There was something about the way Harry looked that stirred every minuscule shred of compassion Draco had ever felt. Again pulled by the same odd instinct which had caused him to touch Harry's chest, Draco reached out to brush his hand against Harry's cheek, to push the filthy locks of black hair back from Harry's forehead. He had to see if it was real, if the cuts and scrapes were really gone. And as he moved his hand, he caught his first look at Harry's chest.

Harry's skin was smooth and pale, without a trace of bruising, not even where the Mislocator had almost broken the skin. There were no nauseating shades of purple, no deep welts. There was just Harry's chest, rising and falling softly as he breathed easily in the gentle rhythms of sleep.

And Draco suspected that if he were so bold as to check over the rest of Harry's body, there wouldn't be a single scratch or bruise left on him. He looked back up at Harry's face, and caught part of Harry's familiar scar peeking out from under the fringe of his hair. Well, he hadn't _really_ expected that to be gone, and interestingly, he was relieved that it wasn't.

Then it hit him. He'd actually healed Harry. Himself. With his own hands. Having only the most basic knowledge of healing charms, Draco knew he'd tapped something far more profound – the essence of all magic: turning intent into reality. For most mundane things, an incantation and a wand were necessary to focus the power. However, a strong enough focus, intent, or desperation was often known to be enough.

And Draco understood just how desperately he'd wanted to heal Harry.

He swallowed nervously. How was he going to explain this? Realizing that explanations were not his biggest concern, he slowly leaned forward, stopping when his own face was just a few inches above Harry's.

"Harry," he whispered. "Harry, wake up."

Beneath him, Harry made a tiny sound, like someone who didn't want to be woken from a good dream.

Draco smiled an uneasy smile. "Harry, I know you can hear me."

"Mmmhmm." Finally, a pair of green eyes fluttered open behind filthy glasses. "Draco," Harry said softly, uncertainly. "What happened?"

Draco ignored the question, but he did straighten up just a little bit. "How do you feel?"

Harry seemed to consider this. If he was bothered by Draco's proximity to his face, he didn't show it. "Odd. Kinda warm and tingly." He reached up and laid his hand flat against his bare chest, then turned a very intent gaze on Draco. "What did you do?"

Again, Draco sidestepped the question. "Here, move your hand. _Reparo!_ There, told you I'd fix your jumper. Does anything still hurt? Are you in any pain?"

"No, I'm fine. What happened to me? I was – " Harry started to sit up, but halfway up, it became apparent that while he was healed of his injuries, he still hadn't completely recovered from the ordeal. As he started to tip over, Draco caught him and settled him back down, this time resting Harry's head and shoulders against his knees instead of laying him flat on the ground.

"Easy there. You're still not quite ready to play World Cup Quidditch."

The feel of Harry's weight against his legs caused the protective feelings to surge back up, but Draco quickly brushed them aside.

"Forget Quidditch for now; I'm just amazed I can breathe." Harry looked up at Draco, eyes wide with questions. "Draco, what did you do?"

Looking down at Harry, Draco searched over the dozens of things he could say, the explanations he could give. Finally, he settled on the one that seemed the closest to the truth. "I don't know."

Eyes remained locked for several long seconds, piercing green eyes searching deep into reluctant grey ones. Finally, Harry looked away.

"We must really be friends," Harry said softly, more to himself than to Draco. His voice was thick with some sort of emotion. It sounded like remorse, but Draco wasn't quite sure. Repentance, perhaps. "For you to do all that... after I... behaved like such an arse."

He paused, but Draco didn't have any words to interject. His own throat felt as thick as Harry's voice sounded. He waited silently until Harry gave a short laugh, then spoke again. "Friends. Some friend I am... threatened to run off. I can't believe I did that. But you didn't leave... Thanks, Draco."

Draco found himself feeling a sensation that had become very familiar in the last few minutes: awkwardness. "Harry... you've got to be exhausted. Maybe you should rest some."

For a moment, Harry seemed ready to protest, but then he sagged against Draco again. "I think you're right."

"Finally done playing the hero?"

"Sure. Your turn." Harry smirked. "You get the cover of Witch Weekly, the celebrity interviews, and the hordes of fans."

Draco found himself smirking in return. Harry didn't really joke often, but Draco found that he really liked it when Harry did. "As it should be, of course. I was custom-designed for fame and fortune. This body, this hair, this majestic profile..."

"You're just as skinny as I am, Malfoy. And you have a pointy nose."

Draco's hand immediately went to his nose, and when he realized his reaction, he quickly dropped his hand and scowled. Harry laughed, then rolled over and sat up slowly, facing Draco. "Well, you _do_ have the hair. One out of three isn't bad, Draco."

Draco's scowl immediately morphed into his practised expression of superiority. "Yes, my hair, worthy of the gods." He ran his hand through his fringe, pushing it back, and his eyes went wide as he felt the grittiness of the dirt in his hair. "Merlin, I _need_ a shower."

Harry laughed.

"No proper hero should be so filthy."

Harry laughed even harder. "Oh, and that's the other part of the hero bargain. Almost forgot. Heroes are always getting filthy."

"Not me."

"And you get to face your own mortality at least once a year."

"Er..."

"And you are required to have a supremely powerful arch enemy to _ensure_ that you face your mortality at least once a year, and who will eventually kill you if he can."

"Now wait a minute..."

"And don't forget the lovely scar, to symbolize your permanent status as a freak."

"Okay, Potter, you've made your point." Draco's voice was hard, but his heart wasn't in it. "I'm not cut out for this hero-business. I'll be happy if we both get home alive."

Harry smiled softly. "Sometimes, that's all it takes. Getting out alive. That's all I've done, remember?" His eyes dropped down, gazing at Draco's collar. Draco almost pulled away in surprise as Harry reached out a hand and touched the base of his neck. "Besides, you've already got your own scar."

Draco blinked. Without thinking, he raised his hand to the base of his neck. Harry caught his hand and placed the tips of his fingers over the spot before withdrawing his own hand. Draco's fingers traced a thin, jagged ridge of scar tissue, which ran roughly horizontal across the base of his throat. That reminder still made him nervous. Finally, he dropped his hands, and swallowed. "You still need to rest a bit before we start moving again. Come on, let's go find a better place than this." He eyed the hole nervously. "I don't want to be any closer to that than necessary."

Draco lurched to his feet, suddenly realizing that he felt quite drained from the ordeal himself. Still, he held a hand out to Harry.

Harry accepted his hand.

*********

With Harry napping quietly, Draco had time to react to what had just happened. First, he'd found himself shaking uncontrollably for several minutes. He'd balled his hands into tight fists until his nails dug painfully into his palms, waiting for the shaking to stop.

When that finally passed, he realized the world was spinning slightly around him. He was almost as exhausted as Harry looked. Now that he had a moment to consider it, he realized that he should have expected it. A wand not only helped to focus magical power and intent, but also had its own magic to augment the magic of the person who wielded it. Without a wand to add power, any significant magical act, if successful, could exhaust the wizard.

Wandless magic wasn't common, but it wasn't rare either. It would happen when a witch or wizard was angry or scared, during times of high adrenaline and emotional energy. That extra boost temporarily gave the wizard enough power to perform basic magic without the aid of a wand. In fact, that was how most parents discovered that their children were witches and wizards. The child would get scared or angry, and the next minute, something sharp and pointy would be flying across the room. There were also countless stories of panicked witches performing incredible feats of wandless magic when their children were in danger, and of witches and wizards protecting their lovers. A witch or wizard could easily shatter wineglasses and windows when properly furious without meaning to, or perform a fair shielding spell in a moment of fear. Under enough stress, some wizards did incredible things.

So it wasn't that unusual. Draco had certainly been scared enough to perform a minor act of wandless magic, but what he had actually done... that couldn't begin to compare with a mere broken wineglass.

 _Broken wineglass_. Draco hung his head, and quickly pushed that memory to the back of his mind.

It had taken far more than mild panic to allow Draco to accomplish what he had – a lot more. He had to admit to himself, he had been terrified at the thought of Harry dying in front of him. And somehow, Draco suspected that he might not have been quite so capable of healing anyone but Harry. Two people couldn't go through life-altering experiences together without forming some sort of bond, and Draco was aware that he and Harry had been through just such an experience, or more specifically, a long string of such experiences over the course of the past two weeks. After all that, he had suddenly been faced with the prospect of losing Harry. In that moment, nothing else had mattered. That thought itself scared Draco just a little bit… or maybe more than a little bit.

Now that the immediate danger had passed, Draco could think back on what had happened in the moments before Harry had fallen. It had been easy to argue with Harry, to yell at him and to insult him. In the wake of a terrifying night-time encounter with the Dark Lord's mind, it had been easy to take his fear out on Harry, to distract himself from his own fears by masking them with anger and contempt. With the possibility of his own mother's death weighing on Draco, a death in which Harry would have played an unknowing part, it had been so easy to lay blame. Draco didn't hate Harry – not any more – but he hadn't been prepared to risk his own mother.

Was it a false threat? Just a mind-game You-Know-Who was using? Just another pawn being manoeuvred, another round of cat-and-mouse?

Draco sighed. Did it matter?

The instant Harry had disappeared from sight, every other thought had disappeared as well. His mother, his own safety... those things _hadn't_ mattered. It wasn't that Draco had rescued Harry out of sheer kindness. Nor had he considered the Mislocator. It hadn't even been a conscious decision. In his mind, there had simply been no other choice. Harry had been in danger, and Draco had had to help him.

 _Why_?

Draco glanced down at Harry, who was still sleeping soundly. He looked so innocent and helpless, even though Draco _knew_ how strong he really was. And even though Draco had been mildly obsessed with Harry for years – the rivalry, the fighting, the insults, the competition, _everything_ – he'd never considered the possibility that there was more to it.

Something about Harry was magnetic. Even though he was just a boy with messy hair and glasses, he stood out in a crowd more than anyone else Draco had ever met. Or maybe that was just how Draco saw it. He didn't know any more. Sitting on the floor of a forest, miles from anyone but Harry, Draco felt as though he didn't know much at all anymore. The events of the last two weeks had completely skewed his frame of reference.

What he _did_ know was that Harry was still filthy. With a faint smile on his face, Draco began casting cleaning charms as he continued to think.

Somehow, Harry was becoming _familiar_ , comfortably close – definitely to the point where he would be missed if he were absent. When Harry had threatened to run off, Draco had been afraid of going outside the range of the Mislocator, but in addition to that, he'd been afraid that Harry really _was_ going to run off. Afraid of wandering the forest alone, perhaps, but more than that simple fear, he was afraid of being away from Harry.

The understanding of the situation didn't come to Draco in a brilliant flash; it just appeared softly, like realizing that a candle had been burning for a long time in the corner of a dark, dusty room before someone actually noticed the source of light.

He was addicted to Harry. Perhaps he had been for years.

Harry had used the term "friends." Maybe that was right, but Draco couldn't associate this friendship with any friendship he'd ever had before. Harry was nothing like Crabbe or Goyle. Nothing like Theodore Nott, or Blaise Zabini. This was _Harry_ , and this was something far different.

But then, Harry had always been different.

Draco finished using the cleaning charms on Harry, then turned his attention to his own filthy hair and clothes. He didn't even know _how_ he'd managed to get dirt in his hair, but at the time, he hadn't cared. Nothing had mattered, except Harry. That was still a very sobering thought.

The memory of the bruises on Harry's chest flashed across Draco's mind. Even though he hadn't seen the broken bones with his eyes, he knew they'd been there. All he had been able think about was stopping Harry's pain. A moment later, the bruises had been gone. And Draco's hands had been resting on the smooth, pale skin...

Draco sat bolt upright against the tree, blinking furiously. _That_ was an interesting mental image. But then, he was just thinking of the fact that Harry had been healed. Yes, that was it.

Although he _had_ noticed that Harry's skin was very smooth. And the after-effects of the magic had left him... well... shimmering. Just a bit. And he'd also noticed that Harry had finally gained some weight.

 _It's not like he had any to lose,_ Draco thought sullenly. _Must be all the biscuits he eats._ _Merlin, I'm just overtired._

Draco forced himself to relax back against the trunk of the tree he and Harry had chosen for their resting spot. He was trying to adjust his position to get comfortable when his hand came across a lump in his pocket. He reached in and pulled out the Mislocator, which he'd removed from Harry's neck while casting the healing charms, just so that it wouldn't get in the way.

He could keep it; that would unarguably be the smarter approach, and certainly the safer approach. Still, it wouldn't be the right approach.

With a faint smile, Draco reached over and looped the cord around Harry's neck, then slid the compass under his jumper. If they were going to get back to Hogwarts, they were going to do it together. And they would get back on time. They _had_ to. He couldn't imagine doing all this for nothing.

Once they were back at Hogwarts, Snape and Dumbledore would surely be able to work out the counter-curse. Until then, there was nothing that could be done. A potion could only be countered with a potion, and while Draco was a fairly capable Potions student, that was exactly what he was: a student. Until seventh year, the only thing they ever did was to follow predetermined procedures, brewing potions from recipes, and to learn a little bit about the individual properties of some common ingredients. They wouldn't begin designing brews of their own for another year. Draco bit his lower lip and thought absently of the vast array of jars, bins and phials arranged alphabetically on the shelves of Snape's potions storage room. There were so many things on those shelves, both common and exotic... something had to work, and Snape would know exactly what to do. Draco was sure of it.

Feeling somewhat comforted by that thought, Draco was about to lie back again when something caught his eye. A grass-like plant with long, drooping blades. _Calamus._ A semi-common potions ingredient. Draco almost laughed aloud, remembering Harry's initial lecture about finding potions ingredients just growing underfoot out here. When he stopped to look, sure enough, things were right there. Calamus was a lunar herb. Highly poisonous if consumed raw, or used improperly in a potion. It was sometimes used in old-fashioned luck charms, but in certain potions, it was a powerful binding ingredient. And it just happened to be one of the ingredients in the Soul's Eclipse potion.

Not sure what he specifically meant to _do_ with it, Draco grasped the small plant near the base, and pulled it up by the roots. There was no need for the ingredients for the actual Soul's Eclipse potion; Harry needed an antidote, not the original potion. And even then, Draco couldn't remotely picture himself trying to come up with such a concoction. He wouldn't know where to begin. Still, he felt that he ought to keep it. Just in case. Quickly, he snapped off the root from the leaves; the root was the only part used in potions. He stuffed the root into an extra pocket, and lay back against the tree, surprised to be feeling even more uneasy than he had before. Some thought was niggling at the back of his mind, but it was so nebulous that Draco knew his exhausted brain didn't have a chance of unearthing it properly.

He tried to relax as all his thoughts began to blur together, but even mental incoherence wasn't enough to let him rest. All his fuzzy tendrils of thought turned into a low buzzing in his brain, and all he wanted was to shut it off. He squirmed for a minute before his arm brushed against Harry's. Afraid that his companion would wake, Draco quickly pulled away. But Harry didn't stir.

Draco regarded Harry, once again thinking about how close he had come to losing him. Again, he marvelled that he _cared_ that he might have lost Harry. And all for what? Because he couldn't just tell Harry what was going on, and he'd closed up, become stand-offish, and it had degraded into a fight? That was ridiculous. He couldn't keep playing this game, ignoring reality in favour of emotional comfort.

Draco reached down and patted the pocket containing the calamus root. If he told Harry, maybe they could reach a solution together. Harry was powerful, and loathe as Draco had once been to admit it, he wasn't stupid either. Together, perhaps they had a chance of coming up with a counter-curse themselves. Or they'd get home faster, and Snape could help. Or at least Draco wouldn't feel like beating himself about the head in frustration without Harry understanding why, and stopping him. Or... or...

He had to tell Harry. That was all there was to it.

Instantly, the buzzing disappeared, and the uneasiness faded. Feeling strangely light – lighter than he had felt for as long as he could remember – Draco resettled himself against the tree again, close to Harry. So close that his arm brushed against the sleeve of Harry's jumper. This time, Draco made no move to pull away. It was reassuring, and somehow it alleviated the strange fear that Harry might disappear the instant Draco stopped paying attention. It was funny that he worried about such things, he thought as he yawned and closed his eyes.

*********

The first thing Harry was aware of was the fact that he was completely disoriented. He opened his eyes a crack and saw the forest around him. Why was he asleep in the middle of the day? He blinked once against the bright light, and suddenly it all came rushing back. The argument, the cave-in, being stuck, the pain, the feeling of suffocation, and finally, Draco saving him. Again. Harry closed his eyes and barely managed to suppress a groan at the cumulative memory.

He wasn't sure if he was more angry at himself, or embarrassed. Of course, the sensation of embarrassment brought him back to the memory of lying on the ground, chest exposed, with Draco casting healing charms on him. In all his life, he couldn't remember ever having felt quite so self-conscious. He had felt so weak, so helpless, in front of Draco Malfoy. Why it mattered to him, he wasn't quite sure. One thing he _did_ know, however, was that he had nobody to blame for that situation but himself.

 _I was actually going to run off with the Mislocator. I was really going to do it._ Unbidden, his mind started playing that moment – the moment he'd made that threat – over and over. He remembered the anger he'd felt. He saw the look of fear and betrayal on Draco's face. Then there was the most nauseating part of the memory: the sense of power and vindication he'd experienced, for that brief moment, when he _knew_ he was holding Draco's life in his hands. It was something he would never have considered in a sane moment. It was the way Voldemort functioned, and years ago, Voldemort had tried to tempt him with such power. Even all these years later, Harry could remember clearly the instant for which he had seriously considered the offer.

It was the Slytherin side of himself whose existence Harry had long tried to deny. But that side of him was real. He'd actually been _pleased_ with the knowledge that he was toying with someone's life. The thought made him feel sick.

And moments later, his life had been in Draco's hands.

Draco, the model Slytherin, who hadn't hesitated to save Harry.

The irony was thicker than frozen treacle.

The anger took over, pushing the embarrassment to the back of his mind. Harry squeezed his eyes shut so tightly it hurt. _Why did I do that? How could I have let it come to that?_

After the fiasco at the Ministry last spring, he'd sworn to himself not to let rash emotions control him. He'd sworn not to make impulsive decisions based on irrational thoughts. When he did that, people died. This time, it might have been him.

 _Not that I wouldn't have deserved it,_ he thought grimly. With a soft grunt of exertion, Harry sat up straighter against the tree behind him, intending to take a better look at his surroundings, when he felt something against his arm. He looked down, and saw Draco.

Draco was fast asleep, and in his sleep, he must have moved, for he was curled slightly towards Harry with one hand draped over Harry's arm in what appeared to be a protective gesture. Some small part of Harry's mind told him that he should be annoyed at the intrusion on his space, but a far larger part of him immediately squashed the thought. How could he be annoyed if Draco's subconscious was feeling protective? More to the point, how _dare_ he? Draco's protection was the only reason he was alive now. Twice over. He should be grateful beyond words for the sacrifices Draco had made for him.

The anger Harry felt at himself quickly turned into guilt. His words to Draco echoed though his mind. _"Ungrateful? Ungrateful? YOU GOT ME INTO THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE!"_ And then the pained look on Draco's face as he'd yelled back, _"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO APOLOGIZE?"_

Harry hadn't known it was humanly possible to feel this guilty without actually having killed someone. Draco had more than made up for his mistakes, and Harry knew it. He'd been completely out of line to use that against Draco, even before Draco had pulled him out of that hole. Draco had apologized, had proven his sincerity, and Harry had accepted the apology. That should have been enough.

_I am such a bastard._

Harry looked down at the slender hand laid across his arm, fingers softly clenching the fabric of his jumper. Under closer observation, Draco's hands were... fascinating. They were almost the exact same size as Harry's, but where Harry had always felt that his own hands were bony and gawky, Draco's hands looked slender, elegant, and even delicate. At the same time, there was definitely strength to them. Not that Harry was in the habit of examining people's hands. But still, it was there for the observation. As Harry's gaze drifted along the long line of Draco's forefinger, he noticed a red mark against the pale skin, and a matching mark on the inside of the thumb.

Curious more than concerned, Harry shifted very slowly and, moving as carefully as he could so as not to wake him, turned Draco's hand over. And stared.

The palm of Draco's hand was covered by a violent rope burn. In the centre of the rope burn were four perfect crescent-shaped indentations, where Draco's nails had almost broken his skin. Harry swallowed as he realized Draco's other hand probably looked the same. The rope must have slid against his grip while he'd been pulling Harry out of the hole. Again, his own angry words came back to him.

_"Let me give you a clue, Malfoy. Life isn't easy! It doesn't cater to your inbred, pure-blooded arse or your perfect, uncallused hands!"_

Harry blinked once, and was hit by a hot flash of shame as he realized his eyes were watering. Embarrassment crumbled underneath another wave of guilt. Those uncallused hands had still been tough enough to pull him out.

He felt even more remorseful when he thought how difficult it must have been to actually pull him out of there. In fact, Harry still had no idea how Draco had accomplished that feat by himself. He remembered there being a rope around him, but he had no clue how it had got there. To be honest, he didn't remember much, with two exceptions: Draco's desperate voice calling his name, and the bleak acceptance of the fact that he didn't expect to get out of there alive. But he _had_ come out alive, and the reason for his survival was sleeping soundly in front of him.

Gently, Harry folded Draco's hand down and laid it across his torso, then leaned back to appraise his sleeping companion.

Draco _cared_. As startling a notion as that was, it was undeniable, and unmistakable. After healing all of Harry's injuries, Draco had been too shaken to notice the red, raw blistering on the sensitive palms of his own hands, too distracted to bother healing himself. And then, after that, the stress had caused him to dig his nails into the already-painful rope burns. Harry suspected that Draco hadn't even noticed. As he considered that fact, a strange warmth welled up in his throat.

Draco really _did_ care, and not just when there was an emergency, either. He'd _been_ there. Not just physically there, as a travelling companion, but completely present, paying attention to everything Harry did or said. It was strange to have someone listening so diligently after so many years of being brushed off, but it was a wonderful feeling. In the past few days, Harry had come to know Draco as well as he'd ever known anyone. Perhaps it was only because they had no one but each other for company, but that didn't seem to matter. Perhaps it was also partially that Harry didn't really get to know _anybody_ that closely.

 _Ron and Hermione... what about them?_ Wasn't he closer to them? Of course he was! He'd known them as true friends for years. Although... there was still something different there. Since the previous spring, he'd withdrawn from everyone a lot, including his best friends. He wasn't avoiding them at all; he had simply closed up, hiding in his shell. The letters he'd sent them with Hedwig over the summer had been concerned and courteous, but also brief and impersonal. And since they'd returned to school, Harry just hadn't felt like talking much to anyone.

Until now, with Draco, Harry hadn't really spoken to anyone at length since Sirius had died. Until now, he really hadn't had anything to say. Not that the situation had been particularly conducive to pleasant chit-chat, but it wasn't idle chatter that Harry wanted. In fact, he hated it. He needed the intensity. Needed a challenge. Maybe he even needed a struggle and a fight to get him back in the business of living instead of wallowing in his misery. Fuck, except for almost getting killed by Voldemort – which in a twisted way was just getting back to the old routine, too – this was almost exactly what he'd needed to break out of the cage he'd built around himself. Even if it _was_ with Draco.

And maybe nobody _but_ Draco would have done.

Harry's mouth opened just slightly into a small "o" as he considered the strange closeness in this new friendship. Images of recent days started to flash through his mind. Draco, holding him tightly, telling him he wasn't ready for World Cup Quidditch. Draco's warm back pressed against his under the cloak at night. Draco, supporting him as they had run from Voldemort's fortress. Draco, helping him sit up after he'd been tortured by Voldemort. Draco's hand on his arm, just now, as they'd slept. Harry reached down and lightly touched that spot on his arm.

Harry had friends, but he'd almost never been _touched._ Not in any way that mattered. In fact, he was almost uncomfortable with it. Touch was something outside his normal realm of experience, something he'd been denied by the Dursleys far more blatantly than food or properly fitting clothing. Something he still felt uncertain about, as though he was treading on forbidden territory.

In his fourth year, he'd been _really_ hugged – tightly, protectively, affectionately – for the first time in his life, by Mrs. Weasley, and it had been almost a shock to the system. The feeling of someone's arms around him, making him the centre of her universe, protecting him, if only for that brief moment... he couldn't begin to describe it. Sure, he'd hugged Hermione, and he'd given Ron friendly claps on the back, but Mrs. Weasley's hug had been different.

And being held by Draco... that was different again.

It was another shock as Harry realized just how many times he'd been in physical contact with Draco in the past few days. Not including sleeping back-to-back at night, they'd helped each other up steep slopes or over obstacles dozens of times, hands offered in help, hands clasped in acceptance, without so much as a second thought. His own forward actions were also surprising, in retrospect. He recalled putting an arm on Draco's shoulder, and resting his own forehead against Draco's as he spoke in his most... confidential manner; that was so far outside his usual comfort level regarding physical touch, he still didn't know why he'd done it. And until now, he hadn't even considered it. It had just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. This gave further proof that he was comfortable with Draco, despite the fact that every shred of his past experience with Malfoy told him he was insane for this.

Again, Harry sighed. He'd been out in the woods for too long, away from his real friends. He was overstressed and overtired, and every muscle in his legs and back ached from walking and climbing all day, and sleeping on the hard ground at night. He was still worried about whether or not they could really just walk home, or if something else would stop them. He was lonely, and he'd been trying desperately not to show just how uneasy he really was with everything.

And all the while, Draco had been there. He supposed that for now, that was all that mattered.

Harry wasn't quite sure what all this meant, and he was too tired to think about it any more. Still, he was sure of one thing. He was going to treat Draco with the same dignity that he wanted for himself. Draco had earned that much from him. He hated to be questioned, so if Draco wanted to keep his secrets, if he felt that the visions Voldemort was using to torture him were somehow too personal, then Harry would respect that. If Draco wanted to get home as quickly as possible, Harry had no reason to question his motives. (In fact, getting home quickly was a bloody good idea.) Draco had given him no reason to distrust him since they'd left Voldemort's dungeons, and Harry was going to honour the trust Draco had earned.

Harry surveyed Draco again. He looked so tired; a bit more pale than usual, despite the amount of sunlight he'd had since they'd escaped, and perhaps a bit drawn. _It must have really taken a lot out of him,_ Harry mused, considering the fight, the rescue, and whatever brilliant healing charm Draco had used.

Wondering how long they'd slept, Harry quickly used his wand to orient himself, then checked the angle of the sun. Early to mid-afternoon. They'd slept for several hours. Draco wouldn't like that they'd lost so much travel time, since he seemed quite keen on making good distance every day. Still, Harry supposed he wouldn't mind the delay, just this once. They'd make it home eventually.

Harry leaned forward and reached for the food pack, but as he did so, he felt something thud against his chest. Surprised, he reached up to his neck and found the chain of the Mislocator. Placing his hand against the front of his jumper, he felt the telltale lump of the Mislocator itself. Draco hadn't taken it back. He'd surely had the opportunity to do so. Harry wouldn't have blamed him if he had. Regardless, Harry felt a deep sense of gratitude for the small gesture. It said so much.

Draco still trusted him.

After all that had happened, Draco was still willing to take a chance on him. That very fact amazed Harry, and not for the first time, he wondered if this was the same Draco Malfoy he'd known for more than five years. Draco had changed. Or maybe, more specifically, the situation had changed.

And then another thought struck him, and as he thought it, he marvelled that it hadn't occurred to him sooner.

_I've changed too._

A year ago – _fuck, two weeks ago_ – he never would have given Draco Malfoy the time of day. He wouldn't have even bothered to consider the fact that Malfoy was human. In fact, Harry knew he'd been perfectly content to view _anyone_ who wasn't on his side as nothing more than an object of disdain. Especially Draco. It had been so black and white, and Harry had liked it like that. It was simpler.

_But it wasn't right._

Life was complex; people were complex. Draco was no exception, and Harry was finding that he appreciated that fact. And he respected it.

Harry smiled softly to himself, and reached for the food pack.

*********

Draco awoke to the sensation of a cool breeze across his face. He turned lazily towards Harry, meaning to wake him and ask him how long he thought they'd slept, but nobody was leaning against the tree but him. Draco was suddenly wide awake. With a surge of panic, he sat up straighter and glanced around, but there was nobody. Harry was missing.

 _He can't be far,_ Draco reasoned to himself, trying to stay calm. _He has the Mislocator. He wouldn't leave me. I know he wouldn't!_

Feeling somewhat frantic, and not quite sure what to do, Draco jumped up and turned quickly...

... and crashed face first into Harry.

"OOMPH!" Harry stumbled a step, and laughed. "Well, good to see you're awake."

The uncomfortable sensation of wasted adrenaline immediately went to Draco's cheeks, and he knew he was blushing furiously. "Where the hell did you go?" Draco asked quickly, not wanting to sound too desperate or too angry.

But Harry just smiled. "Missed me that much already?"

Draco felt his face get a bit warmer, which caused Harry to laugh, which in turn only made Draco more embarrassed. He pressed his lips together angrily and glowered, refusing to justify anything with an answer.

Harry shook his head. "Relax, Draco. I just needed to go use the loo… or in this case, the nearest tree." He held up the travel sack. "And you woke up just in time for dessert."

Draco rolled his eyes to help shake off the effects of the adrenaline rush as he took the sack. "You eat too many sweets," he mumbled as he sat down, already fishing for an oatcake.

Harry plopped down next to him, snickering. "Are you worried about my girlish figure? If I'm not careful, I'll be fatter than Dudley."

The comment was so casual that Draco found himself laughing. "Right, that's your cousin who resembles the beached whale, yes? I don't think you have anything to worry about there. Okay, you can eat as many sweets as you want. In fact, you should be pleased. I noticed that you're putting on some weight. Your ribs aren't showing as badly."

Getting a sudden odd feeling, Draco looked up over the edge of the sack at Harry, who was now studying him with a bemused expression on his face. Draco realized exactly what he'd just said: he must have been _looking_ , to have noticed such a thing. "I... I'm sorry, I just meant, you know, you were damned heavy to pull out of that hole, you know, Potter."

 _Merlin, I'm stammering._ Draco found himself wishing that he was still asleep. Covering for his sudden lack of eloquence, he grabbed the first thing in the food sack that he touched and shoved the sack at Harry. "Here, have your dessert."

Harry laughed again and immediately thrust his hand into the sack, with his arm disappearing up to his shoulder. "Actually... I already had three chocolate biscuits. I just wanted a piece of fruit. Ah... apple... that'll do."

"Three chocolate... you're a bottomless pit, you know that?" Draco paused to look down at what he'd grabbed. Sandwich. Seemed to be... "Eurgh! Corned beef! Give me that sack. I need something that I can _eat_."

A moment later, he was digging through the sack, as Harry was crunching into his apple.

"Er, Draco?"

"What?"

"I think this apple has gone bad. It's all... dry inside."

Draco looked up to tell Harry that _nothing_ could go bad in the food sack, but what he saw was even funnier. "Harry, that's not an apple."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed together. "It looks like an apple, albeit a rather strange apple. It smells like an apple."

"It's a quince," Draco explained, not really sure if Harry was kidding or not. "Haven't you ever seen a fresh quince before?"

Harry actually managed to look sheepish. "Maybe Aunt Petunia kept one or two in the fruit bowl on the kitchen table, but I wasn't allowed to touch the fruit bowl anyway, so I don't really know. And of course Dudley and Uncle Vernon wouldn't touch fruit unless it was baked into a tart."

"Well, that is a quince, and a perfectly fresh one at that."

Harry looked critically at the bitten fruit. "It doesn't taste _bad_ , just a little bit dry." He nibbled at the edge of the bitten spot. "They're supposed to be for eating?"

"Well," Draco said slowly, "I've mostly seen quince used for ornamental purposes and cooking, and I've had some tasty quince jelly, honestly, but they're perfectly healthy. Just a bit dry for my tastes." Draco cocked his head to the side as he considered it. "Actually, if you look at it, it looks like a perfectly logical thing to eat. I mean, think about a pineapple. What idiot picked up one of those viciously prickly things and said, 'Oh, look! It's got spikes all over it, and even the leaves could cut human flesh! I think I'll eat it!'"

Harry snickered. "For that matter, think about the first person who ate a lobster. It's supposed to be a delicacy, but it looks like a mutant scorpion, you have to cook it alive, and those claws could take your fingers off. Or caviar. Look at those slimy little –"

Draco blanched. "You can stop right there, Potter, before you ruin my delicately honed taste for caviar. You've already ruined lobster for me. I may never eat lobster again." He looked back down into the food sack. "In fact, I think I've lost my appetite."

Harry's face softened. "Sorry, Draco. I just thought it was funny. My aunt and uncle entertained a very wealthy client once, and they served whole lobsters for the main course, and caviar on these little crackers for snacks. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, but when I reached for a cracker, Aunt Petunia slapped my hand and told me that she wouldn't see expensive caviar wasted on me. Then she locked me away until the client had come and gone. So I made up all sorts of reasons why I wouldn't want those foods anyway."

Draco found himself nodding slowly. "That makes sense."

The grin on Harry's face suddenly became devious again. "Because who on earth would _want_ to eat those slimy, greasy little balls that reek of fish and regurgitated –"

"POTTER!"

"I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?" Harry smiled innocently, just before he took a huge bite out of the quince.

Draco shook his head in resignation. Going up against Harry was a losing game. Although it was often an entertaining one. "Are you going to let me eat something so we can get out of here? We've wasted enough time already, you know."

Harry's smile suddenly faded completely. "I'm sorry," he said, much more sincerely this time. "And actually, you really need to eat something. You looked a bit peaky earlier. While you were sleeping."

It was Draco's turn to fix Harry with a bemused stare, and inwardly gloat when he was rewarded by Harry blushing.

"Not that I was watching you sleep, or anything, but you were right there, and it was kinda hard to miss, you know, and you're still a bit battered from earlier, so I figured –"

"Potter?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"Oh."

 _One point for Draco Malfoy._ Feeling a bit better, Draco gave the requisite smirk and resumed his search for something to eat that wouldn't remind him of mutant scorpions or other nasty things. He'd barely been able to stomach caviar when it was served to him anyway, and the only way he could do it was to _not_ think about what it really was. _Well_ , he thought, _it's not like I'm going to be invited to one of my parents' dinner parties anytime soon._

Finally, he found an oatcake underneath a couple of limes. An oatcake was safe.

"By the way, Harry, how are you feeling?" He took a bite of oatcake and spoke around it. "Any lasting aches, pains, or whatnot from your fall there?"

"Actually, no. In fact, I feel great. It's amazing."

Draco glanced up to see Harry staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. "What's amazing?"

"Whatever you did. I feel like I've been given a new body or something. Draco, seriously, what did you do?

He would have answered if he could. But there were no answers that made sense, or that didn't sound completely ridiculous. "Just an old healing technique. Something my nurse, Matilda, showed me," he lied.

"Oh," Harry said, sounding just a bit disappointed, and Draco could tell that Harry knew he was fibbing.

He couldn't lie to Harry. Not when he'd just sworn to himself that he would tell Harry everything. Draco's head dropped. "Actually, it's not that. Honestly, Harry, I'm not quite sure what I did. Maybe, when I figure it out, I'll show you, okay? Because I'm still trying to figure it out myself."

It wasn't a great answer. In fact, it wasn't an answer at all. But Harry seemed far more satisfied with that response than the first one. "Okay," he said simply, before biting back into the quince.

Draco shook his head and turned his attention back to his oatcake. He'd barely taken two bites, however, when he heard Harry clear his throat. Draco looked up to see Harry sitting there, fiddling with his piece of fruit, not having taken another bite. "What's wrong, Harry?"

Harry hesitated for a few more seconds before meeting Draco's eyes. He looked like he was really wrestling with whatever he was going to say. "I... er... wanted to apologize. For being such an arse. That whole thing was my fault. I wasn't thinking... I do that sometimes... get carried away, I mean... and I act like such an idiot." He glanced away again. "If I hadn't been so pushy... you know... we wouldn't have argued like that, and I never should have –"

"Wait, Harry, slow down! Just stop for a second." Harry glanced up again, suddenly looking very unsure of himself, a look which seemed both out of place on him, yet so well-worn. Draco gritted his teeth. Before Harry got too carried away with the apologies, Draco had something that needed to be said much more. Several things, in fact. And now seemed like the right time, if there was such a thing. He took a deep breath.

"Harry, you had a right to be angry at me. I wasn't exactly being the easiest person in the world to get on with, you know."

Harry shrugged.

"Listen, there are some things I didn't tell you. I should have –"

"I know."

Draco's heart leapt into his throat. "You know?" It came out as a croak, so Draco coughed once and tried again. "You know what?"

Harry looked away. "I know you were keeping some things from me," he said quietly.

Draco had been pretty sure that Harry had suspected something, but to hear him say it just like that, wide out in the open, it felt like a cold knife. "Harry, I –"

He was silenced by Harry's upraised hand. "Actually, I decided I don't want you to tell me."

If there was _anything_ Draco hadn't expected Harry to say, that was it. "You _what_?"

"I don't want you to tell me." Harry shifted his position, placing himself just a bit closer to Draco, as though meaning to make his words seem more confidential. "Listen, I thought a lot about this while you were still asleep. When I used to have dreams and visions about Voldemort, or even when there was nothing going on, people would try to interrogate me. Everybody always wanted to know what I had seen, or what I was thinking, or otherwise try to pry into my head, and all I wanted was a shred of privacy. So, I figure, you deserve your privacy too."

"But Harry –"

"No, Draco. I was an arsehole. I didn't trust you, I didn't respect your privacy. And then, even though I was trying to be nice at first, I was patronizing you. And later, I disregarded everything you sacrificed to get us both out of there. I should have trusted you."

Draco couldn't quite believe he was hearing this. It actually sounded like Harry had spent quite a while thinking about what he was going to say. And Draco found that he had no good reply. Harry seemed to sense this, so he merely continued.

"You've earned my trust, Draco. And my respect. _And_ my friendship, I think. And the very least I can do for you is to extend the same courtesy I would have wanted when Voldemort messed with me. Just a little bit of privacy, and some space to think.

"The way I see it, if there's something you kept from me, you did it for a reason, and I trust your reasons. So whatever you were going to tell me, don't. I don't want to know."

Draco stared at Harry. He'd been so set to tell Harry everything. About what had happened in the visions. About the threat to his mother. The truth about the Soul's Eclipse potion. However, as he stared into Harry's trusting eyes, he felt his resolve begin to waver.

"But Harry, you don't understand!"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe not. But maybe I don't need to understand. It's been hard enough on both of us, and if you found it easier not to tell me something, then I don't mind if you feel you need to keep your secrets. I'm perfectly content. We'll get home when we get home. You can trust me to look out for you when you need it, and I'll trust you to look out for me." At that, he smiled broadly. "And now, _I_ owe _you_ one."

The last remnants of Draco's resolve vanished as he looked at Harry's smile. _How can I tell him now? He looks happy. Peaceful, even. How can I tell him that there's a clock ticking down the last days of his life, unless I... unless I..._

A sudden sense of resolve flooded through Draco. _I'll find a counter-curse. I'll do it myself. We'll get home on time, but even if we don't, Harry will be okay. I can do it. I know I can. And Harry doesn't even need to know until I can give him good news along with the bad._

His mind spinning with his new purpose and justification, Draco managed a weak smile. "Okay, Harry. You owe me. So what I want is a nice bath, with running water, to wash away the dirt I got in my hair while I was fishing you out of that hole. I got positively filthy because of you, and the cleaning charms don't quite handle the job."

If possible, Harry's smile got even bigger. "No problem!"

Somehow, Draco wasn't quite sure he liked that response.

A few minutes later, Draco was licking the last crumbs of the oatcake from his fingers, and Harry had eaten his quince down to the core.

 _Quince. Why does that seem important?_ Draco racked his brain, but the answer didn't seem to be forthcoming. "Ready to go?" he asked casually.

"Sure thing." Harry's voice was impartial, but his eyes were still mischievous. He stood and stretched. "Ready when you are."

Harry held the core of his quince in his right hand, reached back, and threw it. Suddenly, Draco's eyes went wide with realization. He jumped up, and with a flying leap, he caught the core in his hand.

Harry blinked. "Wow, Draco. If you caught like that during a Quidditch game, you'd have beaten me by now. But if you don't mind me asking, why'd you do that?"

Draco suddenly realized how silly he must have looked. He glanced down at the remnants of the piece of fruit, lying in the palm of his hand. "Er... didn't want to leave any evidence we were here, you know. Too risky."

"Ah," Harry said, not sounding entirely convinced. Draco grimaced, but the second Harry turned his back and started walking away, Draco gripped an end of the core in each hand. With one quick motion, he snapped it in half. Several smooth seeds fell out into the palm of his hand.

Without another moment's hesitation, he pocketed the seeds next to the calamus root and ran off after Harry. The rest of the core lay abandoned on the ground.

*********

The sun was already starting to dip lower in the sky when Harry finally heard the sound he'd been waiting for. Grinning back at Draco, he saw the same look of suspicion and uncertainty that had graced his companion's face for the past couple of hours. The travelling had been pleasant enough. They'd made it out of the valley, over a small ridge, and (thankfully) onto much firmer earth. Harry had then led them both directly downhill, knowing that if they kept following the slope of the land, eventually, they'd have to come to...

"The river!" Harry said gleefully. "We made it."

Draco's face fell. "Is this where we've been going this whole time?" He shook his head. "Wait, before you answer that, tell me this: how did you know there'd be a river here?"

"Simple. Rainwater has to flow somewhere. And it always flows downwards. So," Harry said, trying to sound as academic as possible, "if you go to the lowest point of a valley, you have to find water."

Draco scowled at him. "Know-it-all. Harry, I think you've been spending too much time with the – I mean, Granger."

Harry felt himself start to bristle as he heard the unspoken word stop on the tip of Draco's tongue, but he hadn't said it. Harry could forgive that. It was hard to simply drop years of habits, and all things considered, Draco was doing very well. That didn't mean Harry had to like it, but he had to respect the effort. "Yeah, well, you and I both owe Hermione a lot. Including a dry tent to sleep in at night."

"What I wouldn't give for a proper wizards' tent," Draco mumbled. "I got one of my own when I turned fourteen, so I could stay at the Quidditch World Cup site and not disturb my parents."

"Really?" Harry was interested now. He knew he'd been amazed at the insides of the Weasleys' tents, but what must Draco's contain? "What's in it?"

"Well, it wasn't as fancy as my parents', of course," Draco said in a measured yet slightly nostalgic voice. "But it was large enough, I suppose. There was a pantry that the house-elves had pre-stocked with all sorts of treats, and a lounge for relaxing. The entry had the most stupid statue of one of my great-great-uncles, but my mother insisted on having some so-called 'tasteful' artwork in there. The bedroom wasn't as fancy as my room at the Manor, but it was actually larger, with an enormous feather bed. And the bathroom had a huge hot tub that made the best bubbles... Hey, wait a minute... weren't we supposed to be getting me a bath?"

Harry was too busy trying to close his mouth. Sure, he had known that Draco would have had only the fanciest of accommodations, but hearing him talk about it as though he merely expected such things... it reminded Harry too much of the old Malfoy. Harry shook his head to clear it. "Oh yeah, that. Hey Malfoy, was there ever anything you wanted but _didn't_ have?"

Draco flinched.

"Oops, sorry, Draco. I forgot."

Draco tipped his head to accept the apology and said softly, "Yes."

"Yes...?"

"I wanted to be good enough."

The tone of Draco's voice left Harry's insides feeling cold. "You're plenty good enough, Draco."

Draco fixed him with an amused stare. "That's rich, coming from you."

Harry was about to argue back, but cut himself off as he remembered his promise to himself not to fight. Instead, he made himself think about what Draco had said. _Really_ think about it. As he did, Harry's mouth formed a small "o", as what Draco had meant finally hit home. "Well," he said slowly, "you're good enough _for_ me. Does that count for anything?"

Draco didn't move for a moment, then smiled a very enigmatic smile, but didn't answer. "So, about that bath, Potter? What's your brilliant plan? My hair isn't getting any cleaner, you know."

Harry breathed a quick sigh of relief, and laughed. With a sweeping bow and a gesture, he indicated the river behind him. "Your bath awaits, sir."

"My... what?" Draco's eyes went wide as polished sickles. "You _must_ be joking." He took a step back. "I already told you, I'm not going in the river!"

"Why not?" Harry jogged to the edge of the water and stuck a hand in to test it. "It's actually not _that_ cold. The sun's been warming it all day."

"NO," Draco snapped. He took a noticeable breath before continuing more calmly. "It's too fast. I could get swept away in it. You know, dragged underneath, unable to get to the surface to breathe. Not particularly interested in drowning."

Harry stood up, both puzzled and disappointed. "It's not moving that fast," he said, carefully injecting a note of concern into his voice. "It's not even really rocky here. Slow and deep. It's perfect for swimming."

"The last time I was in a river, I was knocked face-first into a rock by Vincent's father. I don't exactly equate rivers with pleasant memories." As he spoke, Draco casually side-stepped behind a small tree, almost as if he was using the thin trunk as a shield. He was beginning to look extremely uncomfortable.

Harry found himself quite bewildered by Draco's odd behaviour. "Well," he said, trying to sound reasonable, "that river _was_ fast, and it was shallow and rocky. This is nothing like that. You shouldn't –"

If anything, that seemed to scare Draco even more. "I'm _not_ going in the river, Potter, and that's final!"

Harry was completely confused now. "All right, all right, you're not going in the river! I got that part! Now would you mind telling me _why_?"

For a long moment, Draco stood perfectly still, not staring at Harry, but past him towards the river. When he spoke, his voice was so soft Harry had to strain to hear it over the flowing water. "I can't swim."

"You... you can't swim?"

Draco's expression went from scared to cross in an instant. "Are you deaf, or do I need to repeat myself? Yes, I can't swim!"

Harry stammered for a moment, unsure how to respond to that. He looked away, then back at Draco. "Well, it's probably no deeper than your waist. You wouldn't have to actually _swim_ , you know. Just wade in and dunk your head and –"

"I SAID NO!" Now Draco was clutching the tree trunk with a white-knuckled hand, and his breathing was plainly rapid and shallow.

Harry had intended to bring Draco swimming so he could unwind, but that obviously wasn't going to be the result. Taking a deep breath, Harry made a conscious effort to relax his posture. "Okay, it's okay. We don't have to go swimming. I might like to wash up a bit before we keep moving, but for now, how about we take a seat, eat something, and rest. Then we can try to make a couple more miles by nightfall. How's that sound?"

At first, Draco didn't move. Then he let go of the tree trunk, and took a cautious step towards Harry. "Okay," he said, not sounding very sure of himself. "Sounds fair."

Draco kept an obviously wary distance from the river as he made his way to a larger tree and sat down against it. He immediately set himself to the task of digging food from the pouch. "What do you want, Harry? More chocolate biscuits? A pear? That pineapple's still in here, you know. In fact, it just bit me."

Harry wasn't answering. He was too busy thinking. Draco hadn't reacted like that the last time they'd been near a river. But then Draco had never really gone that close to the river, and Harry hadn't been trying to pressure him into swimming. He'd stood by the edge when Harry had been swimming, but that was at a little outcropping of the river which had been little more than a puddle. He'd stayed a fair distance away when Harry had been trying to catch a fish. Now that Harry was actively trying to get him into the water, he looked terrified.

"A pear sounds good," he said absently as he sat down next to Draco. A moment later, there was a pear in his hand, but he made no move to eat it.

Draco was just about to peel a banana when Harry spoke.

"When did you become scared of the water?"

Draco froze in place. "What?" he whispered.

And Harry knew for certain he'd been right. "Well, it's not like it was hard to figure out, Draco. But seriously, what happened to you?"

Draco turned his shoulder to Harry and suddenly became very involved with peeling his banana. "Nothing. I don't want to talk about it, okay? I just don't like the water, I can't swim, and that's the end of this discussion."

 _It's over when I say it's over_ , Harry thought ruefully. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. "Draco, I can't force you to tell me, but I'd really appreciate it if you did."

Draco finished peeling the banana, but didn't even glance up.

"It's just surprising to see anything scare you this much. The only other times I've seen you this scared were due to Voldemort."

Draco cringed, but busied himself with a bite of fruit.

"If you tell me, maybe I can help you."

Draco swallowed.

"Please?"

And with that, Draco spun around. His eyes were wide open, somewhere between fear and irritation. "You want to know that badly? Do you?"

Harry almost felt as though he'd been physically pushed backwards. "Yes," he said.

Slowly, Draco nodded. "Right then." He sat back, closed his eyes, and began to speak very deliberately. "The Manor had a swimming pool. Father had it put there so my mother could sunbathe, although she never did, and neither of them liked to swim. I think he just liked the look of the water.

"One end was deep... at least twice as deep as I am tall. When I was younger, I used to like looking down into the pool. It was a calming shade of blue, and I used to imagine there were mermaids hiding in there, somewhere. Well, my father kept telling me not to play near the pool, because I might fall in. So, whenever he'd say that, I'd back away, because I knew I couldn't swim. And he never taught me.

"So, one day, I was playing by the edge. By the time I heard footsteps behind me, it was too late for me to move. The next thing I knew, I'd been thrown into the water, robes and all." His voice choked off.

By now, Harry's eyes were wide. "How old were you?"

"Seven," came the quiet reply. Then, if it was possible, Draco's voice became even quieter. "It was awful, Harry. It was early spring, so the water was still freezing. It just came rushing in all around. The robes were so heavy, and when I tried to kick towards the surface, my legs just got tangled in the fabric. I was holding my breath, begging any gods that could hear me to get me out of the water, but nothing happened."

He took a slow, shuddering breath. "I have no idea how long I held my breath, but I just couldn't any more. The surface was so far above me, and there was nothing but cold water all around. I think I was just about to pass out when I felt a sharp pull, and I was lying on the deck of the pool, drenched and dripping, gasping, with my father standing over me.

"He said, 'I told you not to play by the pool, Draco.'"

Harry shuddered and looked away. He could almost feel the water around him, pressing in on him. How could Lucius _do_ that to a child? Especially his own? Harry shuddered again, and looked up.

Draco had his knees pulled up towards his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He was shivering. His banana had fallen to the ground, forgotten. He looked so small, like he was seven years old again, and was sitting by the side of his pool, soaking wet, shivering and trying not to cry.

"Oh no, Draco, don't do that." Harry crawled over and knelt in front of Draco. "You're just overtired, and stressed. That's all."

Draco spoke into his knees. "No, Harry, it's not all. I'm sixteen years old, and I'm scared of the water. It's pathetic. Did you know I almost passed out in the boat when Hagrid took us across the lake as first years?" He buried his face against his legs. "I'm so pathetic. Scared of the water. Ha. Damn coward."

Harry struggled for something reasonable to say. "You're afraid of _two things_. That's not much. Voldemort and water. Ninety-nine per cent of the wizarding world is scared of Voldemort, and the rest of them are criminally insane. And yes, before you say anything, I'm scared of him, too. And you have a damn good reason for being afraid of the water."

Stringy blond hair flopped back and forth as Draco shook his head. "I had a reason when I was seven. I had an explanation when I was eight. I had an excuse when I was nine. I don't have shit any more."

Harry stared at the top of Draco's head, searching for something to say, or do. He felt awkward, like he should do something, but he didn't know what. Finally, he did the first thing that came to mind.

He reached out and put his hand on Draco's knee. Draco's head shot up, and a pair of slightly bloodshot grey eyes stared back into his. Harry swallowed. "Well," he said, "would you like to do something about it?"

Draco's eyes narrowed at him incredulously. "Like what?"

"We'll go into the river together."

Immediately, Draco's eyes regained the spooked appearance of a hunted animal. Harry dropped his hand from Draco's knee to grasp Draco's hand tightly, partially so Draco couldn't run, but more to try to give him some reassurance. In the back of his mind, he noted again how easy it was for him to touch Draco. At the forefront of his mind was a bigger issue.

"Are you crazy?" Draco made a lunge to move, but Harry only grabbed his other hand too. Draco hardly seemed to notice. "I can't do that! It's a _river_ , Harry! I can't even handle a swimming pool. Fuck, if it's bigger than a mud puddle and faster than a leaky tap, I want to run screaming the other way." He paused. "I can't believe I just said that out loud," he said, more to himself than to Harry.

"You seem to like the huge bathtub in the Prefects' bathroom, right?" Harry asked reasonably. "That's as big as most swimming pools I've seen."

Draco's mouth fell open for a moment, before he shook his head. "That's different. It's warm. Feels comfortable. And then I sit at the side, and there are so many bubbles, I can hardly see the water."

"Can you think of the river like a bathtub?" As soon as Harry asked it, however, Draco shot him a look of such incredulity that he felt stupid for even asking. "Right. Stupid question. What about when we ran along the edge of the river to escape... you know, them. You didn't have a problem with that."

Draco snorted and actually managed to roll his eyes. "We were running in ankle-deep water. You weren't asking me to swim in it." He sighed and sat back, and in the process, pulled his hands away. "Look, Harry, I know you mean well, but seriously, who cares? It won't kill me if I never go swimming. I can live perfectly well being happily landlocked. Can't you just admit that you can't save every lost Krup, and you can't help everybody?"

Harry looked at Draco until Draco met his gaze. Hidden behind grey irises was an uncomfortable mix of fear and uncertainty. But at the same time, his eyes were asking for something. They seemed to be asking Harry not to give up on him.

"No, you're right. I can't help everyone."

At that, Draco's face actually fell. Despite his words, it was plain that Draco did want Harry to do something. That fact gave Harry the final encouragement to say what he'd planned to say anyway.

"I can't help everyone, but I can help you."

Draco's head jerked upwards. "But... but... what are you going to do?"

Harry smiled and stood. "I'm just going to walk you through it, one step at a time. No magic, nothing spectacular. Just... step by step." He held out his hand. "The worst that can happen is that it won't work, but if you don't try, you'll never know."

Draco reached for Harry's hand, but hesitated.

Harry sighed. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Draco grasped Harry's hand.

Harry had an odd sense of reverse déjà-vu as he pulled Draco to his feet. He smiled and gave Draco's hand a quick squeeze before he released it. "Come on, let's go."

He turned and started walking towards the river bank, and when he heard soft footsteps behind him, he knew Draco was following. He stopped a few feet from the river and kicked off his trainers without bothering to untie them.

"It's not good to take off your shoes without untying them first, Harry," came a voice close behind him. "You'll damage them."

Harry turned, and found himself face-to-face with Draco, who had been standing less than a foot away. The late afternoon sun slanted low into Draco's eyes, and he was having to squint to look at Harry. Even through Draco's narrowed eyes, though, Harry could easily see the nervousness and near-panic buried there. But he could also see that Draco was starting to drop his shields, opening up. The effect was startling. It was odd, but it was also... nice.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Harry said, "but they're just a cheap pair of trainers. Besides, I can't remember the last time I actually bothered to untie them. The knots are probably permanent."

Draco eyed him disapprovingly, but he didn't move. In fact, it was plain that he was stalling. Harry was trying to think of a way to tell him that he couldn't stall forever, when he got a flash of inspiration. Before Draco could respond, or even protest, Harry had dropped to one knee in front of him, and had proceeded to untie his shoelaces. When he stood up again, Draco's mouth was wide open in surprise. Harry shot him a lopsided grin. "That's step one."

Draco tried to say something, but it just came out as a choked grunt. Harry laughed. "See, that wasn't so bad. You can take them off now, you know. That's step two."

Slowly, Draco stepped out of his shoes.

Harry nodded in approval. He stepped back and was reaching for the hem of his jumper when Draco stopped him. Harry raised an eyebrow in query, and Draco replied with an unreadable smile.

Draco's fingers reached out and found the hem of Harry's jumper. "Arms up," he said, and Harry found himself complying without question. In one swift motion, his jumper had been pulled up and over his head, and Harry just knew his hair was standing in every direction at once. This was confirmed when Draco snickered. Harry attempted to flatten his hair.

"Give up, Harry. You've been trying to flatten it for years. Hasn't worked yet."

Harry could only roll his eyes in reply. "Your turn." He was almost surprised when Draco raised his arms over his head without hesitation. Harry paused and looked at him curiously.

Maybe Draco found it easier if someone else was taking him through the steps. Perhaps he felt a sense of control when he made a move, like a game of chess, each player taking a turn. Maybe he needed the reassurance of really letting Harry lead him. Maybe he just trusted Harry that much. Whatever the reason, he seemed calmer than he had been a few moments ago, if not happy, and that was good enough for Harry.

Harry took the edge of Draco's shirt and pulled it over his head, turning the shirt inside-out as he did. Draco's T-shirt got caught momentarily in his outer shirt, exposing his back and torso for a moment. He shivered as the air hit his exposed skin, but there was a tentative grin on his face. He took the shirt from Harry's hands and tossed it aside, leaving both of them in T-shirts.

A flash of uncertainty hit Harry as he realized where this might be leading. He looked from Draco, down to the edge of his own T-shirt, and back up to Draco. Draco nodded.

Draco's knuckles brushed along Harry's sides as he pulled the T-shirt up, and Draco was surprisingly gentle as he pulled the shirt over Harry's head. Even so, Harry had to readjust his glasses. The breeze felt cool on Harry's bare shoulders, but the sun was warm and relaxing. He closed his eyes, relishing the odd sense of peace he felt. Miles from anywhere, still on the run from Voldemort, he knew logically that he shouldn't feel so relaxed and content, but he did. After a moment, he opened his eyes again and looked at Draco.

Draco wasn't looking at his face. Instead, grey eyes were tracing the lines of his collarbone, and down his chest.

"Er... Draco?"

Grey eyes blinked twice, and Draco looked up again. Just as quickly, he looked away.

"What? I know I'm pathetically thin –"

"No," Draco said suddenly.

"Huh?"

"You're not."

"Not what?"

"Too thin."

"Then...?"

Draco met his eyes, and in the bright sunlight, Harry thought he could detect just a hint of a blush on Draco's cheeks. "I told you that you've put on some weight, Harry. You... you look good."

"Oh," Harry said, not quite sure what to make of that. "Well..."

"Sorry," Draco said in a rush. "Just distracted. We were..."

"Yeah," Harry said with a quick laugh. "Your turn now."

"Oh, yeah." This time, Draco hesitated.

"Come on now. I've already got my shirt off." Harry respectfully diverted his eyes. "Or if you're shy, I can look the other way."

"Phffbt," came the response. "You're going to see me anyway."

Harry kept his head down, but raised his eyes. "Then...?"

"I... I just don't often take my shirt off in front of people."

Harry's head came up, and he raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Oh? And how often?"

"Oh, a few... once or tw-... never."

He hadn't intended to, but Harry couldn't stop himself from laughing. The dejected look on Draco's face caused him to stifle the laughter, but he couldn't hold back a smile. He placed a hand on Draco's arm to reassure him. "Well, there's a first time for everything. Or you can go in with your shirt on, but that's not nearly as much fun. So you can take your own shirt off, or I –"

Draco cut Harry off by raising his arms over his head.

Once Draco committed himself to a course of action, he was determined to follow it through, Harry noted. That seemed to apply to everything he did. It was a powerful trait, and admirable.

Harry watched with a strange detachment as his fingers grasped Draco's T-shirt, which had come untucked from his trousers already, and pulled. It slid smoothly over Draco's shoulders, and popped away from his head, leaving his hair uncharacteristically ruffled.

Draco didn't bother to smooth his hair. His pose hovered between shyness and confidence, and he seemed uncertain of what to do with his hands. Harry, for his part, stood quietly, not sure what to do with Draco's shirt. Draco was no more muscled than Harry was, but there was something about him that just seemed more... refined. Where Harry felt gawky, Draco looked polished, somehow. Thin, yes, but somehow elegant, if such a thing was possible for a boy. Yet at the same time, Harry knew they were built almost identically. Without the heeled boots Draco had always worn, they actually seemed to be the same height as well. He looked young, exposed like that, with pale, smooth skin. Young and vulnerable.

Harry was still entertaining that thought when he felt Draco's hand on his belt buckle. With a squeak of surprise, he jumped backwards.

"I'm sorry!" Draco said hurriedly. "I didn't mean it like that... I just figured... I mean... oh Merlin, I'm sorry, Harry."

In that instant, Harry saw Draco's shields going back up. His posture changed, drawing in on itself. _It was about trust_ , Harry told himself. _This entire thing. Mutual trust. He needs to trust me, and I need to trust him. It's not just about swimming. I know it's not._

"No, Draco, it's okay. You just surprised me, that's all. I really hadn't planned this out or anything. I didn't know if you had planned to... you know... you can, if you want." Harry stepped forward, closing the gap between them. "It's okay. Really."

Some part of Harry's mind was telling him that there was something very suggestive about the slow, gentle act of unbuckling a person's belt, or slipping a finger under the top button of someone's trousers. There was something sexual in nature about pulling down the zipper, with its distinct noise, and the rustle of fabric as those trousers slipped down past that person's hips. Still, Harry quieted those thoughts in the back of his mind as Draco methodically went through those actions, his hands moving slowly but surely. Instead, Harry was intensely aware of the immediate experience, and of how Draco's posture became more open, more trusting, and less afraid with each passing second. Nobody had _ever_ undressed him before, and never in his wildest imaginings had he thought the first person to do it would be Draco Malfoy. That didn't matter though. At that moment, nothing mattered except the person standing in front of him.

Harry was standing in his boxer shorts, feeling both very exposed, yet very safe. Complete trust, complete confidence.

And then he was reaching for Draco's belt. He glanced up briefly, and Draco nodded.

Harry had expected his hands to shake as he pulled back the end of Draco's belt to unhook it, but his hands were steady. Next came the buttons, and then Draco was leaning on Harry's shoulder as he stepped out of his trousers, standing in a pair of dark green boxer shorts. Harry dropped the trousers onto the pile with the rest of the clothes.

"Well," Harry began, "that's that."

Draco nodded silently, eyes still wide disks of grey, almost silver in the bright sunlight. He hardly seemed aware of how exposed he was. He wasn't even looking at the water. His eyes were fixed on Harry's face. It was as though Draco had stripped away the final traces of his carefully worn mask; the image and the ego had vanished with the clothes. All that remained was Draco.

"So, do you think you're ready?"

"No," Draco said in a small voice, "but I'm going to try anyway."

Harry nodded and turned towards the water. He had only taken a few steps, however, when Draco made a choked sort of noise. Harry glanced back over his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Draco had clutched his forearms against his chest in a protective posture, and he glanced from Harry, to the water, and back to Harry. "I don't know if… er... I don't think I can... I mean... I think I need..." He stood up a bit straighter, but it only accentuated his uncertainty. "Merlin, listen to me. I sound so pitiful. Harry, I –"

Harry took a quick step towards Draco and stuck out his hand. Draco smiled meekly as he accepted it with a muffled "thanks."

Harry was the first to step into the water. The river bottom was a mix of sand and fine gravel, and the water was cool around his ankles. It felt so inviting that he almost wanted to run headlong into the deeper water without waiting, until he felt Draco's hand tug on him. He turned around.

Draco had frozen in place. "I... I just can't do this. I can't. Maybe... maybe we should just chalk this up to a valiant effort by a Gryffindor with a chronic hero complex, go back to that tree up there, and call it a night. Maybe you can catch a fish. I'll even help clean it if you want. Or maybe –"

Harry placed one finger across Draco's lips, effectively silencing him. Then he reached down and took Draco's other hand in his, firmly gripping both of his hands now. Keeping his eyes fixed on Draco's face, he made sure he had his undivided attention before speaking.

"Don't look at the water. Just look at me. Can you do that?"

Grey eyes stared back at him, unblinking, trusting. "Yes."

Without turning around, without breaking eye contact, Harry took a step backwards. As he did, he pulled Draco along with him, and Draco's left foot entered the water. Harry felt the shiver that ran from Draco through their clasped hands, but he held them fast. In turn, Draco's grip on his hands tightened, but his eyes never faltered.

Another step, and Harry felt the water swirl up past his ankles, cool and inviting. Draco's eyes closed for a brief moment as his second foot entered the water. An instant later, his eyes opened and were once again locked with Harry's.

Harry almost felt as though they were moving as one, like dance partners, dancing to the music of the flowing river; step-splash, step-splash. The water flowed up around his knees, and partway up his thighs, splashing the bottoms of his boxer shorts. Suddenly, Draco pulled to a stop.

"I can't believe I'm letting you do this to me," he said, barely above a whisper. "I must be insane."

"You're doing fine."

"Ha. I'm shaking like a leaf, I can feel my heart pounding, and every shred of sense I have left is telling me to turn around and run."

"But you don't want to."

"No." Draco paused. "Harry, I figure you wouldn't anyway... but can you promise me... you won't breathe a word of this – _any_ of this – when we get back?"

Harry smiled. "Gryffindor's honour."

"I was afraid of that."

"Oh, you!" In one swift motion, Harry dropped one of Draco's hands, reached down, and scooped a large splash of cold water across Draco's exposed torso. Draco gasped.

A second after he'd done it, Harry suddenly realized that he might have undone every bit of progress he had made with Draco. He still had one of Draco's hands clasped in his, so if he wanted to, he could hold him in place, but Draco wasn't struggling. He was standing perfectly still, his face frozen in an expression of shock.

"Draco? I'm sorry, that's not what I'd meant –"

He was cut off as Draco snapped into action. Before he could react, Draco had pulled out of Harry's grasp, reached down with both hands, and had thrown a sizeable armload of water at Harry's face. Harry opened his eyes to see water droplets streaming off his glasses. Beyond those hazy drops, Draco was bent over double, hands on his knees, laughing hard enough to make him cough.

Harry glowered and shook his hair out. If it was possible, Draco laughed even harder.

"I thought you were scared."

Draco finally seemed to catch his breath, and stood upright. "I'm a Slytherin, Harry. I may get scared, but I'm never helpless. And I can't leave a call for revenge unanswered. It's a moral imperative."

"So," Harry said as he removed his glasses to shake off the water, "did that make you feel better? Less scared?"

Draco paused. "Well... I'm still shaking, and going in much deeper is not my idea of a good time. But it helps. Laughing, that is."

Harry nodded, and placed his glasses back on his face. "Now do you understand why I did it a few days ago? Running off for a swim, trying to have a good time, even though the timing was probably terrible?"

"Not to mention dangerous, but yes, I understand."

"I'm glad." Then Harry turned away and started walking into deeper water.

"Harry?" Draco's voice had become thin and nervous again. "Harry... where are you going?"

"To swim, of course," Harry answered, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"You... you're just going to leave me here?"

 _It'll be good for him._ "No, I'm not leaving. I'm right here." The water was up past his waistband, and then up to the bottom of his ribcage. There, he stopped and turned back to face Draco. "Just a few steps in front of you."

If Draco's eyes were anything to judge by, he didn't think it was "just a few steps." He was staring at the water between himself and Harry as though it was the English Channel. "And... you want me to... to..."

Harry sighed. "If I take you the whole way, then you can't say you did it yourself, can you?"

"But I can't!" Draco blurted, somewhere between a cry and a panicked squeak. "It's cold... I can feel it pulling around me. I hate this..."

" _Draco_ ," Harry said as firmly as possible. His tone definitely caught Draco's attention, and immediately, two grey eyes were fixed on his face. Harry nodded in approval before continuing. "Draco, you've crossed miles of forest and mountains, and you're still alive. You crossed Voldemort himself, and he's a lot more terrifying than a few feet of water. You're still alive." Harry allowed himself an inward smile, and softened his tone. "You opened the door to my cell, and crossed those few feet to me, and took me out of there. These few feet are no farther apart than those. You can do this."

Harry wasn't sure when Draco's struggle to overcome this basic phobia had become his own, but it had. Right now, Draco's success or failure would be his too. Somehow, after every other improbable success they'd managed together, Harry couldn't imagine them failing a common goal. Looking at the mixture of fear and determination fighting for dominance in Draco's eyes, Harry found himself trying to _will_ Draco some strength.

Suddenly, Draco screwed up his face. He glared at the river with the same face he'd worn when he'd been preparing to duel Harry in their second year. It seemed as though he was trying to mentally establish his own dominance over the water.

Then, his eyes came up and locked with Harry's. The glare melted away from his face, and his features became blank, almost hard. It was a mask, and he was using it as a tool to maintain his composure, but set in that mask, his eyes were still alive. The sunlight bouncing off the waves threw dancing splashes of brightness across his face, chest, arms, and legs, but mostly, it seemed to land on his eyes, turning the usual pale grey to silver. His shoulders rose and fell, and he started to walk.

The water crept up Draco's skin with each step, and Harry noted that he was shivering as each small wave engulfed a few more inches. His boxer shorts ballooned out as the water rose up underneath him. The waves lapped against his stomach, a deep shudder shook through him, and he stopped, barely five feet away.

_Come on, Draco. You can do it._

Draco's eyes fell shut. Harry imagined Draco was reliving those brief, terrifying moments from all those years ago when he had thought he was drowning.

_You can beat this._

Cold water pressing in on him. Heavy, twisted robes clinging to his feet. No air to breathe.

_Come..._

Draco took a deep breath.

_To..._

Grey eyes peeked open for a split second, eyeing the distance, then closed.

_Me._

There was a flying leap, and a splash, and suddenly Draco's arms were wrapped tightly around Harry, and Harry's arms had caught him. There was a warm chest pressed against his own, and it was shaking violently, heaving as Draco gasped for breath.

"I can't believe I did it..."

"You did it..."

"Never knew I..."

"Knew you could."

Draco rested his forehead on Harry's shoulder, taking slow, deep breaths. "Thank you."

Harry stifled an urge to laugh. "What for? You did it yourself." He gave Draco a squeeze, both in comfort and congratulations. "You got us out of the dungeons yourself. You faced Voldemort yourself. And _you_ made it out here yourself."

"No."

Draco loosened his grip on Harry, and Harry felt reluctant to let go. They stared at each other, and Harry watched the light playing across Draco's face again. Silver eyes.

"I have you to blame for all this, you know, Potter."

Harry raised a wary eyebrow at the sudden use of his surname. "Oh?" he said cautiously.

Draco took a slow breath, and he appeared to be carefully considering what he had to say. Finally, he pressed his lips together firmly, nodded to himself, and spoke. "I caught you in the first place because I wanted revenge for something you did." He paused again, as though struggling with the words that were trying to come out of his mouth. "I lost faith in everything I ever believed because of what you said. I completely changed my concept of power because of what I saw you do."

Draco was shaking, but this time Harry was sure it had nothing to do with the water. He took a deep, convulsive breath. "I turned my back on everything I was because of who you are. And I faced my fears because you said I could."

His gaze locked with Harry's, Draco gradually stopped shaking. His eyes were shining with sincerity. "Harry... there was _always_ you."

Harry was barely breathing, and he knew Draco was aware of this.

Draco nodded, and repeated, "Thank you."

*********

The sun had reached the edge of the distant hills across the river, casting rich golden light on trees, rocks, waves, and Harry's face. They hadn't stayed in the river too long. With the sun going down, the air had begun to feel too chilly for the cool waters. They had dried themselves with towels Harry had transfigured, dressed quickly, and made the decision to set up camp right there... all without speaking a word. There hadn't been a need to speak, and the silence was comfortable.

The Invisibility Cloak had been turned into a tent again, not that they expected any rain. It was just for the enjoyment of having a tent. For supper, Draco had used his dagger to cut up the pineapple. _Amazing how something that looks so unappetizing – even dangerous – can be so sweet._ With the remains of their light meal cleaned up, they'd retreated into the tent, laying side by side, facing outwards towards the setting sun.

Never in Draco's life had he felt so content, as though he was truly in the right place, at the right time, with the right person. Just for that night, he forced himself to lay his worries aside, and just _be_. And it felt _good_.

He hadn't realized how much weight a simple fear could leave on a person's shoulders. He still wasn't comfortable with the water, and he certainly couldn't swim, but now he knew he could face it. He felt lighter, somehow. And he owed it all to Harry. Perhaps that thought should bother him, he supposed, but it didn't. In fact, the effect was quite the opposite.

Draco turned his head and glanced at Harry.

Harry was lying on his stomach, hands folded under his chin, gazing out at the sunset through half-lidded eyes. His mouth was curved into a relaxed smile. Draco watched, inexplicably captivated, as Harry's eyelids slowly drooped and closed. At first, Draco thought Harry was falling asleep, but then Harry took a deep breath, stretched his arms out in front of himself, and smoothly refolded his hands under his chin.

Draco found himself smiling. "So, Harry, what are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking that I'm lying on a rather uncomfortable rock, but I feel far too lazy to move."

"You're so –"

"I'm so what?" One green eye peeked from under a half-raised eyelid.

Draco could only shake his head in amusement. He quickly sat up, reached over and grasped Harry's shoulder, and rolled him up on his side. Quickly locating the offending rock, he plucked it from underneath Harry and dropped Harry softly. "Problem solved."

Harry, who didn't even look as though he'd been suddenly manhandled, sighed softly. Again, he stretched, reminding Draco of a cat, and rolled lazily onto his side, facing Draco. He propped his head up on his hand and shot him a half-grin. "My hero."

"And don't you forget it." Draco looked down at Harry, and realized he didn't like not being on the same level as Harry. He shifted, and a moment later, he was stretched out, mirroring Harry's position. "Who would have thought... a year ago... a month ago –"

"Nobody," Harry answered immediately. "Least of all us."

"You didn't let me finish asking my question. I could have asked 'who would have thought that I'd have eaten a pineapple.'"

"But you weren't going to."

Draco smiled. "You're right. Why do you always have to be right?"

"I'm not. I hazarded a guess. All you did was confirm it." Harry's smile faded. "I was really wrong about one thing, though."

"Oh?"

"I was wrong about you."

Immediately, Draco felt his face becoming warm. He tried to stop himself from outwardly blushing, frowned, and shook his head. "No, you weren't."

Harry fixed him with a stern look. "Really?" he said sarcastically. "Because if I'd been right, we'd still both be sitting in Voldemort's dungeon, and you know it."

Draco looked down at his hands, which he quickly occupied with plucking blades of grass, one at a time. He felt so ambivalent about this. It wasn't that he was proud of who he had been, but he wasn't completely ashamed either. Maybe the problem was more that he wasn't exactly sure _who_ he was any more. His frame of reference had changed so much, and while he liked the change, it was still so new, so different. He wasn't sure if it was just his frame of reference that had changed, or if he really _had_ changed along with it. Even though he felt content with his current situation and confident with his decisions, regardless of how misplaced those feelings were, at the same time he also felt hollow, like he was missing a part of himself. Then again, maybe he was just confused, and thinking in circles.

He was still sure of one thing: he knew who he had been, and that person would never have gone into the river.

"Potter, you know perfectly well that everything I did... back at school, back in the dungeons... that was me. And who I _was_ is still a part of who I _am_. I'm not about to dance in the streets singing Dumbledore's praises. I still don't like Muggles and Mu-Muggle-borns changing the older traditions of wizarding society. And I still want nothing more than to beat you at Quidditch."

Harry grinned and shook his head. "Don't think I don't know that. But I also didn't give you enough credit. Granted, you didn't give me much to go on, all these years, but somewhere along the line..." The smile faded, and for a moment, Harry looked deeply apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I actually stopped thinking of you as a person. I thought you didn't have the capacity to change."

"I hadn't wanted to change."

"But you did."

Draco gave a short laugh. "Again, that's your fault."

"Everything is my fault, in some way or another. Remember?"

Inwardly, Draco cringed, but Harry didn't notice.

Harry closed and opened his eyes slowly. "I just hope I'm not wrong when it really matters."

Draco tilted his head. It seemed a good opportunity to ask a question that had been gnawing at him since he'd admitted his own personal phobia. He just had to approach the question from the right angle. "Harry... I have an odd question for you."

"Mmm?"

"What are you afraid of?"

Harry eyed him for a moment before answering. "Well, lots of things, I suppose."

"Name one thing."

"Voldemort."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I think we already covered that. Congratulations, you're sane."

"Heh, the jury is still out on that one. Draco, is this to prove to yourself that I'm not perfect?" Harry asked directly, not being one to dance around an issue. "That you're not the only one with a fear? Because –"

"No," Draco interrupted, a bit more quickly than he'd meant to. "No... actually. I was really curious."

"Well..." Harry shifted in place, but didn't actually move. He stared off into space, and chewed absently on his lower lip. The fact that he really seemed to be struggling to come up something didn't make Draco feel any better about his own phobia, but Draco reminded himself that he had other reasons for asking.

Harry finally released his lower lip from his teeth. "I don't really like ants. One or two of them don't bother me, but they're kind of creepy when there are a lot of them, crawling all over the place –"

"That's not a fear, Harry. That's a natural reaction to a disgusting creature."

"I still don't like them."

Draco found himself unable to suppress a snicker. "Ants and spiders and snakes and other creepy-crawly things... you are such a girl, Potter."

"Hey!" Harry half-sat up, bristling with indignation. "Spiders don't bother me at all, and snakes are actually good conversationalists. Besides, I wasn't the one who squealed like a stuck pig when he _thought_ there was a slug in his hair."

Draco felt his face redden. "Right. Forget I said it."

Harry nodded, gave a smirk of satisfaction, and leaned heavily on his hand with a contented sigh, but Draco wasn't going to let the topic drop. He was working towards something more specific.

"So then, what _are_ you afraid of?"

Harry grumbled. "Needles, then."

"Sewing needles?"

Harry grimaced. "No. It's a Muggle way of giving certain medicines... they stick a needle in your arm and... _urgh_ , I don't even like thinking about it."

The image planted itself in Draco's head, and he shuddered. "I think I get the general idea. See? Muggles _are_ insane."

"Well, in this case, I'll agree with you. I had to get vaccinated before I attended Muggle school when I was five, and there were three shots. I guess I was supposed to get some of them when I was younger, but my aunt hadn't bothered. The first one... I didn't know what to expect, so I didn't react. It stung like a bee sting, and it surprised me, so my natural reaction was to get upset and refuse the next one. Well, Aunt Petunia slapped my face and told me to stop being such a baby, but when the nurse brought over the next shot, I couldn't sit still for it."

Harry turned his face into his hand as he spoke. "She grabbed me by the arms and wouldn't let me move until the nurse had administered the next two, but each time the nurse got close, she acted like she'd been shocked, so she jabbed the needle in too hard. I had no idea that I'd shocked her – I didn't know I was a wizard at the time. I was shaking so badly by the time it was over... we got to the car and I couldn't buckle my own seatbelt. I was still shaking by the time we got home. Because I'd misbehaved, I got to spend the evening in the cupboard. My arm was sore, and I was upset." He gave a bitter laugh and looked back up at Draco. "I haven't had to do that since then, and thank goodness for that. If anyone tried to do that to me now, he would find himself – or herself – hexed into next week."

Again, the Draco pictured the scenario, and couldn't quite stop the twisting sensation in his stomach as a result the mental image. "You know, I think I would have hexed her, too. But Harry, is that a paralyzing fear, or just something that you find creepy?"

"Are you really _that_ determined to find out what scares me?" When Draco didn't answer, Harry grumbled, "Just creepy, I guess. I haven't had to deal with that in years, and little things don't bother me so much any more."

"So," Draco prodded, "are you telling me that you have no real fears, or are you hiding something?"

This time, Harry turned his eyes downwards, and his shoulders sagged in defeat. "When we were learning about Boggarts in Defence Against the Dark Arts class, in our third year, my Boggart turned into a Dementor."

"You're most afraid of Dementors?" Draco asked, suddenly remembering with total clarity the effect they'd had on Harry.

Harry scowled at him. "Well, I certainly wasn't afraid of you in an oversized cloak."

Draco winced sheepishly.

Harry grinned. "Actually, I asked Professor Lupin about that. His explanation made me feel a bit better. He told me that Dementors are the embodiment of fear, and to fear a Dementor... it's the fear _of_ fear."

Draco pursed his lips as he considered this. "So, you're saying that the only thing that scares the great Harry Potter is fear itself?"

Harry smiled bitterly and shook his head. "Maybe it used to be. A lot has happened since our third year."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Then...what are you afraid of now?" His curiosity had taken on a new depth now, and a distinct level of concern. Harry kept himself so tightly guarded, and now, to see him taking down the walls... it was different. "What is _Harry_ afraid of?"

Harry coughed, and Draco suspected this was covering another sound.

"I'm afraid of failing. I'm afraid of the responsibility I've been given, but I'm afraid of what will happen if I ignore that responsibility." Harry looked at Draco bleakly. "You feel like you were never good enough... but I worry that if I'm not good enough..." His voice trailed off.

"If you're not good enough... what?" Draco prompted.

"Everything."

Draco raised an eyebrow in query.

Harry sighed. "I used to hate Voldemort because of what he did to my parents. Then I also hated him for what he did to everyone else. I wanted to fight him for no other reason than the fact that I wanted him to die. And then... I found out that I had no choice in the matter... I'd have to fight him anyway. Nobody else... just me."

This was something Draco had always wanted to know: why Harry? He waited, trying to be patient, waiting until Harry was ready to say... whatever it was he had to say.

"There was a prophecy," Harry finally said. "When you think about it, it sounds so completely cheap... what a lousy reason... all this trouble because Trelawney actually had to go and make a _real_ prediction."

Draco felt his eyes widen. "Harry, prophecies are serious business."

"Yeah. Tell me about it," Harry grumbled.

"So... what did it say?"

"In a nutshell? It's either me, or him. Ha. Apparently, I'm the one with ' _the power to defeat the Dark Lord_.' And everyone expects me to do it, when all I want is to play Quidditch."

Draco grimaced at the sick irony twisted around Harry's words. Harry was staring at the ground between them, the posture of a person avoiding something.

"There's something else, isn't there? In the prophecy."

Without looking up, Harry whispered, " _Neither can live while the other survives_." He snorted. "What kind of sick joke is that?"

The words rolled around in Draco's head as he stared at Harry's downcast face. "Harry..." The real question Draco had been saving was right there, on the tip of his tongue. And this was the best chance he'd ever get to ask it. "Are you afraid of dying?"

Harry didn't move for a moment, but his gaze finally met Draco's. His face was strained and tight, but his eyes were clear. "Dumbledore once told me that to the well-organized mind, death is just the next great adventure. I don't know if I buy into that idea, and I know for sure that my mind isn't exactly well-organized... but no, I don't think I'm scared. Not of death."

Harry looked somewhere past Draco's shoulder. "I feel like I've been living on borrowed time, ever since I found out how my parents died. When I learned that Voldemort was specifically looking for me..." He took a deep, slow breath. "I don't have a death-wish or anything, and I don't intend to lose... I can't lose... but lately, I've felt like there's been a clock, counting down, like my time is running out. I don't know how much time is left on the clock, but I can still feel it."

Something inside Draco's chest clamped down hard, and he couldn't completely suppress the gasp of shock.

Harry didn't seem to notice, though. The corner of his mouth twitched in a perversion of a grin. "When the time comes, I'll have to face it. And I know that I'll be as ready as I can be." His eyes came back to rest on Draco. "But in the meantime, I just want to be human. I want to enjoy life, for a change. I've thought about this a lot, actually. Sirius was miserable while he was hiding from the Ministry, trapped inside the hidden... well, I can't tell you where, but Sirius thought of it like a prison. He didn't want to hide; he wanted to fight, he wanted to live. And I think the happiest he was, in those last few months, was in the minutes before he died. He was duelling, and he was laughing. He was reckless, but he was free. I want to enjoy the time I have. Sirius would have wanted me to."

Draco had to cough to clear his throat before he could talk. Even so, he could only manage a scratchy whisper. "What happens when that clock runs out?"

Harry actually shrugged. "Then I deal with that when the time comes, and I hope I'm ready. I'm afraid to fail, but fear is Voldemort's strongest weapon. I can't let him use it on me. Besides, there are worse things than death, I think."

"Like what?"

"Being alone." Harry's face actually relaxed some. "I don't ever want to be alone again."

"Oh," was all Draco could think to say.

"Draco... let me see your hands."

"What?" The sudden shift in conversation was unexpected.

Harry sat up, and Draco automatically mirrored him. "May I see your hands? Please?"

Draco wasn't sure where this was going, and he wasn't sure why he felt shy all of a sudden, but he complied. He extended his hands between them, palms up. It was only then that he remembered the nasty set of rope burns he'd received earlier that day. His palms were still raw and blistered, but he hadn't bothered to heal them. Some masochistic part of himself had decided that he deserved it. He'd been so distracted that he'd even forgotten that the injuries were there.

Now that he was focusing on them, though, he couldn't help but flinch when Harry reached out and took his hands.

"Why didn't you heal them?"

Draco shrugged.

A sad smile ghosted across Harry's face. "You healed me of Merlin-only-knows-what, and you didn't bother to take care of a couple of rope burns?"

"I had other things on my mind, I guess."

This time, the smile on Harry's face stayed. "You said you'd show me how you did it, maybe. Will you?" There was no need to ask what Harry meant.

"Well... it was some sort of instinct, I guess. You were hurt, and I was worried, and... here, look." Draco reversed the grip so that he was holding Harry's hands, and turned them over so Harry's palms were facing upwards. His own hands hovered over Harry's, separated by a few inches. He wasn't sure if he could do it, but there was no other way he could explain.

Focusing every fibre of being, Draco concentrated on nothing more than building energy between their hands. He imagined warmth. He tried to feel the tingling. He pictured the glowing light, and the strange, residual shimmer it left. And there it was. The light was small at first, almost unnoticeable, but slowly, it grew. Soon, it was as though a shimmering ball of light was suspended in the air between their hands.

It was beautiful.

Harry gasped, and Draco looked up from their hands, and into Harry's eyes. The light from between their hands was brighter on Harry's face than the fading rays of the sun. Unlike the sunlight, it didn't seem to reflect off the lenses of his glasses, but went right through them, radiating back out as intensified green from his irises.

"That's... that's amazing," he said.

"Yeah, it is," said Draco, not sure if they were talking about the same thing.

Harry looked back down, and Draco's eyes followed. Then Harry moved his hands, slowly turning them and raising them. Draco mirrored the motion, and all the while, the small white ball hovered between them. When they stopped, their hands were raised, palms facing each other.

Then, Draco felt something change. The ball seemed to be vibrating differently, growing stronger. Before, the energy had only been Draco's own, but now, in some intangible but unmistakable way, Harry's energy was combining with his. Two distinct vibrations swirled together, humming silently, creating a strange harmony of light and warmth. Draco quickly looked back at Harry's face, and saw that it was screwed up in concentration. He was putting himself _into_ the ball, if that was possible, where the energy was an actual extension of himself. Through it, Draco could _feel_ Harry; that something that was familiar and uniquely Harry, but at the same time, completely alien to anything Draco had ever seen or felt.

Between them, the ball suddenly began to grow, and then change shape. Draco's hands felt warmer, but not too much. In fact, it was an extremely comfortable feeling.

Draco watched as the light moved towards his palms. It flattened out and wrapped around his hands, clinging to his skin, soaking into him like water into parched earth. It was a strange sensation, as tingling heat spread up his arms. He could feel it sinking into his muscles, flowing through his veins. It found its way to his chest, and then the world was wrapped up in the strange heat radiating through his body, and the green eyes staring into his. He suspected that it was all the same.

And then Harry pushed their palms together. Automatically, Draco's fingers intertwined with Harry's as a jolt shot through him. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by a strange dizziness, holding tight to Harry's hands as if they were the only thing grounding him to reality. His heart was racing, and through the heat in his chest, he was aware that he needed to breathe.

With a shudder, Draco took a breath and opened his eyes. The light was gone. It seemed so dark in the tent, and he realized the sun had just set.

They sat like that for a minute, hands still clasped together, palm to palm. Draco didn't want to move, and he was somehow sure that Harry felt the same way. Although the light was gone, Draco could still feel the faint remnants of it, tingling in the non-existent space between their hands. He didn't want to let go of that sensation, but eventually, it had to happen. Finally, they pulled their hands back at the same time.

Draco looked down at his hands, and wasn't the slightest bit surprised to see that the angry red marks across the palms of his hands were gone without a trace. Not surprise, no, but there was another emotion there, and Draco wasn't quite sure if he could put a name to it. This was all so far beyond his frame of reference.

The tingling warmth faded away, and in its wake, he felt both completely relaxed, yet wide awake. When he looked back up, a different kind of warmth immediately replaced it.

Harry was grinning his quirky, lopsided grin, looking extremely pleased with himself, and Draco had to laugh.

"Show-off."

"And don't you forget it," Harry quoted him. He looked out across the silhouetted landscape and sighed contentedly. "Want to bed down for the night so we can get an early start?"

"I suppose," Draco said noncommittally. Words were somehow eluding him at the moment. He felt it was probably better that way.

First, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his counting stick, unsheathed his dagger, and cut a notch in it. It was his nightly ritual, and Harry hadn't questioned it since the first night. Sliding the stick back into his pocket, and the dagger safely back into its sheath, he then reached for the travel sack. He pulled out the cloak, enlarged it back to its regular size, and unfolded it. Harry automatically grabbed one side and helped to spread it across the inside of the tent.

Draco was surprised, but not shocked, when Harry lay down on his side, facing towards him. Not feeling like breaking suit, Draco did the same. He watched as Harry removed his glasses, folded them neatly, and placed them on the ground near his head. He smiled as Harry yawned, stretched, and curled back up to mirror Draco with one arm nestled under his head.

"We're a pretty odd pair, aren't we?" Harry murmured.

His face was barely a foot away from Draco, and distance aside, Draco knew that this was the closest he'd ever been to another human being. He liked it.

"We are," Draco answered. He still didn't know quite what to say, but somehow, words weren't that important. "We should sleep."

"We should," Harry said, but he didn't close his eyes.

Neither did Draco.

Daylight faded, leaving nothing but shadowy outlines visible under the bluish light of the half moon. Even though Draco couldn't see Harry's eyes any more, he knew they were still open. He told himself to fall asleep, but he couldn't, even though he was completely at ease. He'd be tired the next day, but somehow, that was okay. So he just lay still, breathing slowly and evenly, enjoying the unusually warm night and the soft breeze.

Finally, when he felt sure that Harry must be asleep, he felt the cloak pull and slacken as Harry shifted. The shadow that was Harry moved, and suddenly, he could feel Harry's breath against his neck, and the soft warmth that radiated from Harry's body. They weren't touching, but they were so close, they might have been.

As the stars drifted by overhead, and the moon sank below the horizon, Draco fell asleep.

*********

_I swam across. I jumped across for you.  
And all the things that you do.  
And they were all yellow._

_Your skin, oh yeah your skin and bones,  
Turn into something beautiful.  
Do you know  
For you I bleed myself dry?  
For you I bleed myself dry._

_(Coldplay)_

 


	14. Breaking Point

The day dawned clear and warm, but the sole occupant of the tent by the river was still snoring softly. A buzzing in his ear caused him to stir, but he merely snuggled deeper into the soft folds of the cloak and began snoring again. Something tickled his cheek, and he swatted at it reflexively, but didn't open his eyes. When the gnat landed on Harry's nose and bit him, he slapped it.

The self-inflicted slap in the face immediately brought him fully awake, and he sat up, blinking against the brightness of morning.

"Damn insect," he grunted, rubbing his nose, which was now both itchy _and_ sore. He sighed and looked down at his companion. "G'morning Dra –"

He stopped short. The tent was empty. "Draco," he breathed.

Grabbing his glasses and jamming them on his face, he scrambled to his feet, almost knocking the tent over in the process. He was just about to call out when he saw Draco, and the sight caused him to skid to a stop.

Draco was standing in the shallows of the river, facing the far bank. His trousers were rolled up to his knees, and the water came halfway up his calves. Ripples from the river bounced off his legs to collide with other ripples, sending sparkles of light dancing. He was wearing just his T-shirt – Harry noticed his blue jumper lying on the bank.

Draco took a small, tentative step forward, sending larger ripples off into the quiet river. As he moved, Harry could see his shoulder blades shifting under the fabric of his T-shirt. He brought up his other foot alongside the first, and stood still again. Even though Harry couldn't see his face, he could imagine it. Draco would half-close his eyes each time he stepped. Then, once he was standing still again, his eyes would open wide, taking in everything.

With the sun at their backs, the whole forest around them was alive with green. The air wasn't humid, but not too dry either; almost soft. The wind was calm, like the dawn was holding her breath as she greeted the day. The only sound was the faint familiar backdrop of running water, and the occasional drone of gnats.

Harry scratched his nose.

He looked at Draco for another few seconds before making up his mind. He kicked off his shoes – despite hearing Draco in the back of his mind telling him to untie the laces first – pulled off his socks, and rolled up his trousers.

The dew on the grass clung to his toes, and his feet were wet before he stepped quietly into the river. He stopped next to Draco.

Draco acted as if he'd known Harry had been there the whole time, glanced at him briefly, and greeted him with a soft smile and a nod of the head. Harry thought he detected an unspoken " _what took you so long?_ " in there somewhere, but it was rhetorical anyway. Draco then looked back out at the forest.

Harry followed Draco's gaze, wondering if he was looking at something in particular. He quickly realized there was nothing specific – just everything. The thought made him smile, and he glanced back at Draco to find the same thoughtful smile on Draco's face.

"What do you think?" Harry asked in a whisper, as though anything louder than that shouldn't be allowed.

Draco didn't look back as he answered. "I think it's beautiful."

*********

Harry hadn't been sure how Draco would act, after the experience at the river. It might have been a bit awkward for him. Maybe Draco would want to talk about it, or maybe he'd close up from discomfort over how much of himself he'd exposed. He might even be angry. The actual result was altogether different.

Draco didn't mention it again. It was as though the time spent at the river had been a time and place apart, and Draco carried on as if it hadn't happened. Almost. Draco didn't _act_ much differently than he had before. He still tossed random insults back and forth with Harry with casual amusement, and still prattled on with long-winded tales of random magical facts. He took great amusement when Harry tripped over a branch and landed face-first in an unfortunately muddy patch of ground, and snickered gleefully as he healed Harry's bruises. Harry had returned the requisite scowl. Still, something had changed. They were closer, somehow. Unspoken though the fact might be, it was obvious, and Harry took a strange comfort in it. Somehow, he knew Draco did, too.

In many ways, they were still in their "place apart" from the rest of the world.

A few times, Harry found himself watching Draco with a sort of fascination. He'd never really looked at him before, and even after their escape, the mental image he'd constructed of the pointy-faced, haughty blond hadn't quite vanished. Now, Harry let himself see what was really there. When Draco was relaxed, he actually had a very pleasant smile. Harry wondered offhandedly if ugliness was really just a side-effect of a sour disposition. Draco caught him staring once, when they'd stopped for a snack, and wordlessly raised an eyebrow in query. Harry merely shrugged, took the last bite from his apple, and threw the core in Draco's general direction.

After one pleasant day of easy travel, Harry awoke the following morning to rain spattering in through a gap in the tent. He groaned, which woke Draco.

"Maybe I spoke too soon," Draco grumbled as he stuck one hand out of the tent to feel how heavy the rain was. "'Beautiful' my arse."

Harry snickered, and Draco responded by flicking a handful of rainwater at him. Even the miserable weather couldn't dampen the light-hearted mood. Harry waterproofed their clothes, and Draco turned a couple of leaves into a hideous pair of hats. When Harry laughed, Draco insisted that his hats would be considered the height of fashion somewhere in the world.

"Perhaps... in an institution for the blind, or maybe the criminally insane."

Draco scowled. "Fine. Your head can just get wet, then."

Harry smiled, grabbed the hat, and plopped it on his head. "I never said I didn't like it."

"Then you have terrible taste in fashion."

"Wait, but you just said –"

"Said what?" Draco grinned innocently. "And by the way, your hat clashes with your jumper."

Harry shook his head, trying to mentally catch up with Draco's rambling. "Hat clashes... what...? That's because it's _green_."

"Well, what other colour would it be?" Draco asked as he began fishing through the pack for breakfast.

Harry tapped the hat with his wand. "Red." The hat abruptly changed colour.

Draco frowned, abandoned his quest for breakfast, and aimed his wand at Harry's hat. "Green."

"Red!"

"Green!"

"Red –" " – Green!"

Draco's eyes went wide, and he immediately doubled over in laughter. Harry got a funny feeling – something like being scared, but not quite – and removed the hat from his head. "Plaid," he said bleakly.

Draco sat up straight and gasped for air before blurting out, "Well, it suits you!"

"Does not," Harry said flatly.

Draco eyed the hat, looked at Harry appraisingly, then glanced at the hat again. "Definitely."

Harry groaned and aimed his wand at the offending hat again. "Let me just fix it –"

Draco placed his hand over Harry's. "Green," he said firmly. "Seriously, red looks awful on you. You may be a Gryffindor, but..." His voice trailed off as he shook his head in disapproval, tutting softly with his tongue.

" _What_? I didn't think it mattered."

"Well, it doesn't, but it does." With a smirk, Draco quickly flicked his wand in Harry's general direction. "Seriously, with eyes like yours, it's almost a shame you didn't let the hat put you in Slytherin."

He was staring directly into Harry's eyes now, and Harry felt his cheeks growing warm. "And why is that?" he whispered.

"Because then at least you wouldn't clash."

Harry sat back and rolled his eyes. "And when did you become a fashion connoisseur?"

"I'm not," Draco said simply, "but there's always something to be said for good taste."

This was certainly very odd behaviour, Harry thought to himself. "And your tastes are...?"

Draco continued to look at him for a moment, then flashed a half-grin and pulled a piece of fruit out of the pack. "Banana," he said smugly.

Harry shook his head, and finally looked down at the hat in his hands. It was green. And now, so was his jumper.

*********

As they travelled, warm and dry under their odd headgear, Harry decided he didn't mind the green jumper so much. It had left Draco in a decidedly cheerful mood, despite the rain, so Harry figured he'd keep it like that. Just for a little while, of course.

The gloomy weather led to reminiscing about home and Hogwarts.

"I used to love Quidditch practices on days like today," Harry said wistfully.

"Potter, have I told you lately that you're barking mad?"

"No."

"Okay. Potter, you're barking mad."

"Was that a professional opinion, or a friendly observation?" Harry asked with a laugh, as he batted an overhead branch. The movement brought down a deluge of fat droplets which splattered their faces despite the hats.

Draco lightly punched Harry's shoulder. "Sheer honesty, nothing less. Arsehole. And why would you want to play in the rain?"

"Simple. Once we were done, we'd come inside, and the common room would be nice and warm, with a blazing fire. We'd all group together by the fireplace and avoid doing homework together. Fred and George would usually pinch a bunch of desserts from the kitchens, along with some hot chocolate –"

"How did they get into the kitchens?"

The question was so casual that Harry almost answered it before he caught himself. He grinned and shook his head. "I solemnly swore that I'd never reveal the secret."

"Liar."

"Well, would you believe it involved tickling a painting of a piece of fruit?" Harry laughed at the confused look on Draco's face. "Maybe I'll show you when we get back. We can celebrate our miraculous return with a proper feast. Besides, I'll bet Biddy will be down there, and she'll be thrilled to see you."

Draco grumbled, "Yeah, and I'll have her permanently attached to my leg, if I'm not careful. See what happens when you're nice to a house-elf? They never leave you alone!" There was no malice in his voice, though.

"Yup, Draco. She'll follow you to the ends of the earth now. Unconditional love and devotion. And it's always good to have someone waiting for you when you come home."

When Draco remained silent for several seconds, Harry looked over. Draco was staring at the ground as he walked, and he looked distinctly crestfallen. Immediately, Harry understood why. This wasn't the first time Draco had shown distress over the anticipated reaction from his housemates, and Harry was sure it wasn't going to be the last, but so far, they hadn't really discussed it. He inwardly kicked himself for having brought it up. "I'm sorry, Draco."

"What for?" Draco said harshly. "You didn't do it."

"Well, you said it was all my fault, if you remember," Harry reminded him, hoping to take some of the weight from Draco's shoulders.

Draco shot him a sharp look, but Harry wasn't going to let it go so easily. "I'm sure _somebody_ in Slytherin won't know, or won't care. I mean, they've been your friends for this long, right?"

"Harry," Draco said in a voice that didn't allow for debate, "You really don't get it, do you?"

Harry started to feel a little awkward. He hadn't meant to break the topic into a full conversation, especially when he knew exactly where it would go, and how it was going to affect Draco. "I... I'm not sure what you're talking about."

Draco grumbled, "Oh, yes you do, even if you don't want to admit it to yourself. We've been tip-toeing around this for days. So, let me spell it out for you."

He drew up short and leaned against an oak tree, and indicated for Harry to get comfortable. "Being in Gryffindor is like being in an exclusive sort of club, right? You're either in, or you're out."

"Well, sure, I guess."

"And what would happen if, say, you suddenly discovered that Neville Longbottom was a Death Eater? And don't look at me like that. I don't want to hear that it could never happen – a week ago, nobody would have believed that I'd turn on the Dark Lord. So for the sake of argument, just imagine it. Neville Longbottom; Death Eater. What would you do?"

Harry's mouth opened, but he had no answer. At least, he had no answer that he wanted to give. "I... I suppose we'd probably corner him, hex him, and turn him over to Dumbledore."

Draco nodded knowingly. "That's because you'd consider him a traitor and a threat."

Harry said nothing.

Draco looked at Harry with an almost sympathetic expression which seemed out of place. "Everyone in a house is pretty much like-minded. That's why we have houses... so we can get along, and people generally agree with each other, as far as the important stuff is concerned. So if somebody disagrees with the status quo when the stakes are this high, that person becomes a target. Right?"

"Right..." Harry said hesitantly.

"Then you should know perfectly well that pretty much everyone in Slytherin is of one mind regarding Muggles, Muggle-borns, and the Dark Lord. There are different degrees of _enthusiasm_ , of course. Some people don't much care either way. Some people are fanatical. And you can probably guess that those who are the strongest supporters of the Dark Lord are the ones with the most influence; the ones you don't want to cross." He grimaced. "That used to be me."

Draco shook his head to himself and started walking again. "There's not going to be anyone waiting for me when I get home."

Harry fell into step beside him, desperate for something to say. _That could have been worse_ , Harry mused. _He seems pretty accepting of it... I wish he didn't have to be._ "I wish there was something I – "

"There isn't." Draco's words were harsh and flat, and made Harry cringe. "You've done enough."

 _That_ shocked Harry. "I'm sorry...?"

Draco finally spared a glance in Harry's direction. His face was set sternly, but his eyes were warm. "Don't be."

Now Harry was confused. "Huh?"

Draco's expression warmed to a cool shade of neutral. "Just because you've done 'enough' doesn't mean what you did was wrong. It just means the rest is up to me. Think about this, Harry. When we get back, what am I going to do? Get re-sorted into Gryffindor? Ha, not bloody likely. I don't think anybody has _ever_ been re-sorted. And even if I was... after what I did to you, your housemates will be just as angry with me." He shook his head. "I'll just have to figure out how to handle my housemates on my own."

"How well do you think that will work?"

Draco made a noncommittal noise and shrugged.

"Do you think they'll try to hurt you?"

"Probably."

Harry didn't like how easily Draco offered that response. "What would they do to you though? I mean, what _could_ they do to hurt you within Hogwarts? Surely the professors – "

"Harry," Draco interrupted softly. "Do you remember what I was able to do to you in Hogwarts just two weeks ago?"

A cold, sick feeling settled into Harry's stomach. His face must have matched that sensation, because Draco nodded his approval. "The professors don't have nearly as much control as they'd like to think. Look at what happened last year."

The coldness congealed into a knot of worry. "Will you be okay?"

Draco tipped his head. "I'll figure it out."

"What if they try to kill you?" The question was out of Harry's mouth before he could stop it. His eyes widened in horror at what he'd just said, but Draco almost looked amused.

"Don't tell me you're _worried_ about me," he asked with deceptively light curiosity. When Harry didn't answer immediately, he furrowed his eyebrows. "Are you?"

"I worry about all my friends."

A smile appeared to tug at the corner of Draco's mouth. "And I've miraculously been deemed worthy of the title of 'Harry Potter's Friend'? To what auspicious occasion do I owe this honour?

Harry rolled his eyes. "Not exactly an honour these days. In fact, it will probably turn into a fast track to a violent death."

Draco seemed to consider this. "I think I'll risk it. Besides, I want to have _someone_ besides a house-elf back at Hogwarts who doesn't want me dead."

"Well," Harry began thoughtfully, "the Hufflepuffs don't seem like the bloody-murder types. You should be safe from them."

Draco stopped short, eyes wide. "Potter, I just had the most horrible vision."

"What's that?"

"A murderous horde, robed in yellow and black, running at me, screaming and brandishing exceptionally sharp spoons."

Harry surveyed Draco sceptically, then glanced up at the sky, which was still dripping water relentlessly. "Your brain must be getting waterlogged."

"I think one of them had a pair of rusty scissors."

"Come on, Draco." Harry clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Let's keep going."

*********

As the afternoon wore on, the rain slowly started to let up, and the clouds retreated from the tops of the surrounding mountains. The landscape was changing, too. Dense forest occasionally gave way to open fields where the high grasses were bent almost double with the weight of the rain. Swirls of fog stretched out of the woods and across the fields, carrying the mellow scent of rain and earth, musty but not heavy. The wind blew gentle puffs of drier air, heralding the end of the storm. Harry abandoned his hat, despite Draco's protests, and at the first real break in the clouds, they stopped for a late lunch.

"What'll it be, Harry?" Draco asked as he flopped down heavily on a low rise of earth. "Assortment of fine cheeses? Peppered roast lamb? Turkey pie?"

"Very funny," Harry said as he grabbed the sandwich from Draco's outstretched hand. He quickly took a seat on a large rock a few feet away, wondering why Draco hadn't taken the better seat. "I figure it's about two o'clock. With all the rain today, we really shouldn't sleep in the lower part of the valley. Water drains downwards, so it'll be too soggy."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Yes, Mr Nature Guide. Harry, pardon me for asking, but where did you learn all this random shit?"

"Same place I learned about the fishing," Harry said before stuffing a large bite of ham sandwich into his mouth. "Muggle television."

"And we all know how effective your fishing technique was."

Harry ignored the comment. "The nature channel had a special about floods and floodplains."

"Ah. Too bad your infinite Muggle wisdom left occasional gaps in your common sense."

"I seem to be doing just –"

At that moment, a gust of wind shook the tree branch over Harry's head, soaking him in heavy droplets. Chagrined, Harry stared over the top of his water speckled glasses, and finished, "Fine."

Draco snickered, took a bite out of his sandwich, chewed, and quickly swallowed. "Why do you think I didn't sit there, genius?"

Harry wasn't sure which irritated him more; the water trickling along his scalp, or the thought of conceding to Draco's foresight by moving.

He wasn't going to move. That would mean Draco was right.

Grumbling to himself, he went to take another bite of his sandwich when a fat drop of water landed squarely on the nape of his neck and ran down his shirt. He shivered and glared up at the tree in irritation. The tree responded by having yet another drop fall right between his eyes. Figuring that the tree was more vindictive than Draco, Harry moved.

"Surrendered, did you?"

"Never," Harry said calmly as he sat down on the other side of Draco. "I prefer to think of it as a strategic retreat."

"Sure," Draco said distractedly. "Strategy, Gryffindor style. Very profound." He was no longer really paying attention to Harry. His interest appeared to be divided between his lunch and a small shrub growing behind him. "Hey, Nature Boy, did Sprout cover shrubs and trees in her classes on Potions Plants?"

With some effort, Harry suppressed the bristling sensation on the back of his neck. "Some. Why?"

Draco was running his finger along one of the branches of the shrub. "Is this a hawthorn or a blackthorn?"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "What? How am I supposed to know?"

Draco spared a backwards glance. "I'm not saying that you're _supposed_ to. I'm just hoping that you do. Take a look."

"Fine." Shaking the water from his hair one more time, Harry moved around Draco to get a better look. He fingered a few leaves gently. "It's a blackthorn."

"Oh." Draco sounded disappointed. "How can you tell?"

"The leaves are ovals with little teeth. Hawthorn leaves have lobes." He suddenly pulled his hand away from the branch as though he'd been shocked. " _Shit_! I _am_ turning into a nature freak. Merlin help me."

"Weren't you just picking on me a few days ago for _not_ remembering things from Herbology?"

Several answers flashed through Harry's mind: everything from "I have a reputation to uphold as a lazy, Quidditch-playing, evil-fighting Gryffindor," to "I hadn't expected to become your personal reference manual!" Instead, he glowered and said, "Shut up, Draco."

"No, that would be dreadfully boring." Draco paused thoughtfully. "And besides, what would you do without my charming wit and conversation?"

Harry just shook his head. "You're impossible, you know that?"

Draco nodded. "And you love every minute of it." He took another bite of his sandwich and spoke around the mouthful. "Eat. We've got ground to cover."

*********

It was late afternoon before Draco let the fatigue in his legs get the better of him, and he stopped at the edge of a large field to rest. The winds were blowing the last traces of clouds from the sky, the grasses in the field were standing upright as they dried, and it promised to be a pleasant evening. Draco flopped down in the damp grass and closed his eyes, grateful that the waterproofing charm was still working on his clothes. A soft thud nearby informed him that Harry had willingly joined his respite.

"So then, if you weren't dating Pansy Parkinson, and Millicent Bulstrode has no interest in boys, who _were_ you after?"

Draco opened one eye in irritation. "You're not going to stop pestering me, are you?"

Harry shook his head, grinning. "I already told you everything there was to know about _my_ love life."

Draco closed his eye again. "No skin off your back. You didn't _have_ one in the first place."

Draco was immediately rewarded by a face full of wet grass. "Phffffbt! What the hell was that for?" He sat up, brushing the offending plant matter from his face and shirt.

"For being a prat." Harry shrugged. "And because I could."

Draco scowled and threw the last few bits of grass in Harry's direction, but the wind caught them and they fell just short. His scowl deepened. "How exceedingly mature. That might partially explain the complete lack of any meaningful relationship."

"Hey! What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Harry's voice oozed indignation, and Draco grinned.

"Harry, Harry, Harry."

"You sound like Lockhart."

Draco barely managed to suppress a wave of nausea. "Okay, I get it." He shook off a shudder. "But let's just say that the behaviour required to impress the ladies calls for a bit more decorum than throwing wet grass at people."

"Are you telling me that I have to grow up?"

Draco sighed with a smile. "In some ways, you're grown up more than most people ever will. In others... well... you told me what happened with Chang."

Harry glared at him darkly, which only made Draco laugh.

"Seriously, Harry, some of us have wondered about you. I mean, there has to be a reason you haven't _really_ dated. Last minute dates to the Yule Ball, and you ignored the girls anyway. And then, with half the girls in the school falling over their favourite hero – and some of the blokes too, if I'm not mistaken – you had to pine after some girl you barely knew, who wasn't terribly interested according to you, and then you had no idea how to deal with the emotional consequences."

"What the hell was I _supposed_ to do about Cho?" Harry leaned back on his hands sullenly. "All she wanted to do was cry about Cedric. And then..." He made a strange growling noise. "None of it was what I expected. None of what I wanted. I thought there was supposed to be something _there_. Especially after I'd wanted to date her for so long."

Draco leaned forward and rested his chin on his clasped hands. This was very... _interesting._ "Harry, have you ever considered that you didn't actually want to date _her_?"

Even from there, Draco could feel Harry's shields go up immediately. "That's stupid. Of course I wanted to date her."

Draco chuckled. "Think about it, Harry. In all your time at Hogwarts, you develop one crush on one girl. _One_. More of a fixation than a crush, judging by your description. You barely knew her. She was almost unattainable. You had almost no physical interaction with her, and barely spoke to her. You hardly cared when the so-called relationship failed – and don't look at me like that. I've seen both girls and blokes mope about for days... or weeks... when a love interest flops. You were just irritated."

"So?"

"So... you had no interest in her." Draco fixed his most enigmatic grin on his face. "Or in any other girl for that matter. Chang was just a distant fixation, and it gave you the perfect excuse not to even try dating anyone else."

"I was busy trying not to die," Harry said flatly. "What's your excuse?"

Draco shook his head to himself and chuckled at his private source of amusement. "Just a general lack of interest." He paused to consider the depth of his answer. "I mean, look at the girls in my house. They might be pure-blooded, but Merlin! They're ugly!"

Harry considered this, nodded once, then shook his head. "There are plenty of girls in other houses, and I'm sure some of them must be pretty."

Draco found this statement even more interesting than the others. "Really, Harry? Then who?"

"I... I don't know. I wasn't really looking." Harry was starting to look flustered. "Who cares?"

"Apparently, not you."

"What?"

Draco began quietly laughing to himself. "Harry... you're sixteen years old. At that age, you're supposed to have more hormones in your bloodstream than Bertie Botts has beans. Are you telling me that you haven't even been _looking_?"

"I told you, I've had other things to worry about!"

Draco's grin turned into a smirk. "What colour are Chang's eyes?"

"What?"

"You're saying that a lot. I asked, 'What colour are Chang's eyes?'"

Harry looked confused for a moment. "They... I think... hmm..."

"Harry, every oriental person has brown eyes." Draco was highly amused. "That should have been too easy. What about Brown... er... Lavender Brown? What colour are her eyes?"

"Brown?"

Draco shook his head, not in disagreement, but because it was obvious Harry didn't have a clue. "The Patil twins? Loony Lovegood? The Weasley girl? _Harry_ , these are the girls you _know_. This should be easy." The smirk turned devious. "Okay, let's try this. What colour are Finnigan's eyes?"

"Hazel," Harry answered automatically.

 _Gotcha._ "Finch-Fletchley?"

"Brown."

Draco's smile became more subdued, but no less devious. "Zacharias Smith?"

"Blue-grey, I think."

Draco closed his eyes. "Mine?"

"Grey." Harry's tone of voice had changed just then. While the answer had been certain, the tone had been questioning. "Draco... where the hell are you going with this?"

Draco sat up and fixed Harry with a stare. "If you can't figure it out, Harry, then I'm really not at liberty to explain it to you."

"Huh?"

Draco smirked. "Maybe when you're older."

"What?"

"There's that word again, Harry." Draco stood and clapped Harry once on the shoulder. "You see if you can work out the answer on your own." He reached down into the food pack and pulled out a banana. "Food should help your thought process. Lots of potassium."

Draco dropped the banana into Harry's lap, marvelling over the blank expression on Harry's face. Leaving Harry sitting there, Draco began exploring the foliage along the edge of the field. He was still on a mission for potions ingredients, and he'd thought he'd seen some mugwort a bit further into the woods.

"Hey, Draco?" Harry's voice followed him.

"Yes?"

"Did you hear something?"

Draco glanced back over his shoulder. " _Something_ , as in...?"

"Never mind. Just my imagination."

 _Just the squeaky sound of the rusty hormone valves in your bloodstream._ He just rolled his eyes, smiled, and nodded before turning back to his little search.

The trees were still damp from the morning rains, and dead leaves from previous seasons were soft underfoot. Draco combed through the low bushes, thinking absently to himself. Of course, he had no proof of Harry's preferences, but the very suspicion... it was definitely unexpected, and highly fascinating. That the Golden Boy could possibly be... it was too strange to consider. But the funniest part was that _if_ Harry was gay, it was obvious that he had no clue. Draco, on the other hand, had personally entertained the thought once or twice. At least as a remote possibility. Maybe.

Draco's eyes were fixed on the ground as he walked, looking over the multitude of familiar plants while he continued to ponder this latest piece of information about Harry. He was still lost in thought when the silvery leaves of a small plant caught his eyes nearby. _Mugwort! I knew I saw some!_

He stepped over a small branch, and walked around a shrub, and there it was. Or, there they were, for that matter: several small mugwort plants, clustered together at the edge of some dense brush.

Harry's voice carried to him from a few metres away. "Draco, did you say something?"

Draco didn't bother to look back as he answered. "No, Harry. Just the voices in your head again." He reached down to pluck the largest sprout of mugwort at the base of the stem.

"The voices... _DRACO! STOP!"_

Draco didn't hear the sharp hiss over Harry's yelling, but he saw the sudden flash of motion, and he definitely felt the sharp stab on his right forearm as the snake struck him. "AAAGH!" He wrenched his arm back and clapped his left hand over the bite as he took two stumbling steps backwards in surprise.

Harry was running towards him, making hissing noises that could only be Parseltongue. When he reached Draco, he grabbed Draco's arm and switched back to English. "Let me see it."

"It's not that bad," Draco snarled, pulling his arm away. He could already feel a burning sensation.

"LET ME SEE IT!"

Harry's voice left no room for argument, and Draco obliged by rolling back his sleeve and extending his forearm. Harry grasped him by the wrist and leaned forward to examine the two distinct puncture marks, which were already reddening. He looked up at Draco, eyes wide with worry. Without dropping Draco's wrist, he looked back over towards the brush and hissed again.

Slowly, a fair sized adder slithered from its hiding place in the dense plants, and hissed a reply. By the look on Harry's face, he understood every – word? Hiss? Whatever? Harry must have hissed something scathing in reply, because the snake, if such a thing was possible, actually looked ashamed. It curled itself up into a ball and lay still.

Harry turned back towards Draco. "We startled her," he said, as if that explained everything. "Or more specifically, you startled her. She says she's sorry... but... but she's an adder, and..."

"Harry, I know... adders are poisonous." Draco could feel himself start to shake as the implications of his words sunk in and the burning in his arm grew stronger. He clasped his left hand over the bite again, partially out of reflex to the pain, and partially because the sight of the two puncture wounds slowly oozing blood was making him queasy. One coherent thought pushed through his building fear. "We have to make an antidote."

"How?" Harry's voice shook slightly. "That could take forever! We don't have any equipment, or any ingredients!"

Despite the pain and the sick feeling that was settling into his stomach, Draco managed a smirk. "Adder bites aren't usually fatal, Potter, and even if they were, it takes a while. We have time. And as for _making_ the antidote... I'm just glad _one_ of us paid attention in fourth year Potions."

Harry's mouth was hanging slightly open. He blinked twice. "But... equipment? Ingredients?"

"Can you transfigure a standard pewter cauldron?"

"Yes..."

Draco squeezed at the burning spot on his arm, but if anything, that only made it feel worse. He grimaced. "And do you think we can find snakeroot, plantain, Calamintha – er... wild basil, and an ash tree?"

Harry blinked again. "Do those grow around here?"

Draco nodded. "They should. Do you know what they look like?"

Harry thought about it for a moment, then gave a tight-lipped nod.

"Good. The base for the potion is rainwater. We don't need much, so I'm sure we can collect enough from leaves. You also need to convince your friend there to donate a sample of her venom." He indicated the adder, who was still curled up in a contrite little ball. "Can you do that?"

Harry glanced down at the snake, the back at Draco. "I'm sure she would. She was really sorry... why do you need the venom?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "One of the most basic formulas for antidotes to poisons is to take _that_ poison, and use various other ingredients and magic to reverse its effects. Didn't you pay any attention in – _oh_!" A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he clutched his stomach. "I think we need to hurry."

Harry responded with a nod, and turned to the snake. As Harry began hissing, Draco could only shake his head. There was still something about Parseltongue that was utterly fascinating. But there was no time to think of that as another wave of dizziness hit him, this time leaving nausea in its wake. With a deep breath, he began combing the immediate area for plants.

Draco had once heard an old folk saying that for every danger or ailment you can find in nature, you can always find the exact remedy close at hand. That was usually true. Jewelweed near poison ivy. Black willow _Salix_ in swamps where people often caught fevers with headaches. Figwort and other appropriate burn poultices near dragon caves. And where snakes lived...

"I've found the snakeroot, Harry."

"Already?" Harry looked up from where he had been talking to the snake.

Draco nodded. "I expected it to be here." He closed his eyes against another wave of dizziness. "It tends to grow near where snakes live."

Harry nodded vaguely. He seemed rather unfocused, and Draco noted that he seemed to be taking the situation worse than Draco himself was. That wouldn't do. Judging by the rate at which the venom seemed to be affecting him, Draco was pretty sure that Harry would have to be the one to finish brewing the antidote. That was, provided they found the other three ingredients. If they didn't...

_This is not going to pleasant._

He shook his head to himself, but quickly stopped as it brought up a fresh surge of nausea. He dropped to one knee and started digging furiously at the base of the little plant. A moment later, with the snakeroot firmly in hand, Draco walked back towards Harry. To his irritation, he stumbled the last few steps and let himself flop down in an undignified heap.

Harry's eyes went wide. "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah, peachy, Potter. Best day I ever had," Draco snapped. Then he saw the stung look on Harry's face, and he deliberately softened his own tone. "I know... just trying to help. Here." He shoved the snakeroot into Harry's hand. "One down, three to go."

Harry looked at the twisted, dirty root sitting in the palm of his hand. He seemed frozen. "Are you going to be able to brew this yourself, Draco? Because you know that I'm not the best at Potions. I'm not terrible, but –"

"Harry, your little friend there got me pretty hard. At the rate this is going, I'm not going to be much help to you in another fifteen minutes." Draco swallowed against the growing tightness in his throat. At first, he thought he was getting inappropriately emotional and frantic, but when he realised he was slowly becoming short of breath, comprehension hit him. Another side effect of the venom. He also noticed that he was breaking into a cold sweat. He forced himself to breathe as evenly as possible, and leaned towards Harry. "So, I'm going to tell you _exactly_ what to do."

"But what if I –"

"You made it into Snape's NEWT level class... you'll be fine." Through slightly blurry vision, he did his best to fix his eyes on Harry's. "You've got the venom, right?"

Harry held up a small corked vial that he must have transfigured; a viscous, yellow substance clung to the inside of the glass. Draco nodded his approval. "Good. I'd thank your little friend there, but I also have her to thank for getting me into this mess. So... wait, where'd she go?"

"She... er... wanted to help, so I told her what we needed." Harry's eyes shone hopefully. "She said she knew exactly where to find plantain, and she'll be back really quickly."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Well then, I guess I –"

The pain in his arm suddenly flared, and this time, the burning seemed to run through his entire body, leaving a tingling numbness in his limbs. He closed his eyes as the dizziness overwhelmed him, and the next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, stifling a moan.

"Draco!" Harry was immediately by his side. "I shouldn't have let you move around... that spreads the venom faster. Shit – no! Don't sit up. Just lie still. Whatever you need to tell me, you can tell me from there."

There was a whispered charm, and Draco felt something cool and damp pressed against his forehead. He opened his eyes, and found himself staring at the slightly blurred face of Harry Potter.

"I need to sit up," Draco mumbled, feeling very uncomfortable with the attention, and a bit claustrophobic with Harry leaning over him. "Let me sit up."

He made a more concerted effort, but Harry's hand pressed against his chest, and he couldn't move.

"Draco, tell me what to do. Now."

The tone of Harry's voice combined with another wave of pain was enough to convince Draco that this was not the time to play around. He tried to take a deep breath, but failed. Wincing, he began, "First, place three ash twigs in the bottom of the cauldron, and pour over that a half cup of rainwater. Start a low fire..."

Somewhere around the middle of his instructions to Harry, Draco was no longer sure if he was making sense. His brain seemed to be wrapped in cotton. He felt feverish, and he wished he could simply pass out, if that would just make the pain stop.

*********

While he waited for the adder to return, Harry retrieved the ash twigs from a nearby stand of the slender trees, skinned and sliced a thumb-sized piece of the snakeroot, and had collected almost enough rainwater in a cup he'd transfigured from an acorn cap. He was desperately trying to ignore the faint moans coming from Draco. If they had been at Hogwarts, Madam Pomfrey would have had an antidote ready. If they had been at Hogwarts, Snape would have had the wild basil, which was conspicuously absent from the area.

_If we were at Hogwarts, this never would have happened._

Harry took yet another in a long string of slow, deep breaths in an attempt to keep his wits about him. Panic wouldn't do Draco any good.

A faint hissed greeting was a much welcomed distraction from his worry.

 _"Young massster, I have returned with the plant you need."_ The snake was lying by his feet, with several familiar egg-shaped leaves laid out in front of her. _"Isss it enough?"_

 _"Oh, thank Merlin!"_ Harry reached down and scooped up the leaves. _"Yes, it's enough."_

The snake gave one regal nod before lifting her head and looking in Draco's direction. _"He isss not doing ssso well. I am sssorry, again, I thought he wasss going to hurt me."_

 _"He'll be okay... if I can find wild basil,"_ Harry said as he resumed collecting the rainwater. _"I don't suppose you know where to find that?"_

_"Alasss, this plant I do not know."_

Harry's stomach dropped so sharply that he almost spilt the rainwater. He'd been counting on being able to ask the snake for more help. Draco had said that the plants needed for a cure were almost always found wherever the hazard itself was found. He'd been so certain it would just _be_ there. _"Are you sure?"_

_"I am quite sssure, young massster."_

Harry sucked in a sharp breath. He had to find it. There was no other choice. But that didn't stop the thought from popping into his head: _We are really fucked._ Out loud, he said, _"Thank you anyway. I'm sure I'll find it."_

The snake seemed to regard him carefully for a moment. " _I ssshall not be far, if you have need of me again. Pleassse, tell your friend I am truly sssorry._ "

Harry gave a slight nod as the snake slithered off and disappeared beneath some brush, leaving him alone with his delirious companion. Draco, for his part, was clutching his stomach and weakly tossing his head back and forth every few seconds. He'd become delirious about halfway through his instructions, but that was okay. Harry had recognized the potion, and from Draco's ramblings, had been able to remember the details for himself. It wasn't a very complex potion.

With the cup full of rainwater, Harry returned to his impromptu potions laboratory. He'd transfigured a large rock into a fairly good cauldron, which he'd set over a small magical fire. He'd found two fairly flat rocks and would use them to mash the plantain leaves into a paste. The venom was laid next to the ash twigs and snakeroot, ready to use. It was perfect, save for the missing ingredient. Knowing full well that it was pointless without all the ingredients, Harry placed the twigs in the bottom of the cauldron and added the water. Those needed to simmer for a half-hour before he could even add the plantain anyway. He could search more in the meantime.

Harry was mashing the plantain leaves when he was startled by a voice.

_"Young massster."_

Harry calmed when he realised it was just the snake talking. _"Yes?"_

_"I can tassste prey in the air. I have not eaten for daysss. I must hunt."_

_"Sure. Go ahead. I've got to work on this anyway,"_ Harry replied absently. What did he care if the snake had to go hunting? The snake couldn't do anything more to help him, and he needed to concentrate. As soon as the plantain leaves were pulverized, he could start searching for the basil.

A few minutes later, the plantain leaves were ready, and he had about twenty minutes of searching time before he had to come back and perform the next step. During that time, he could surely cover a large enough area to find something. It _had_ to be there.

He walked over to Draco and dropped down beside him.

Draco was a sad sight. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his jaw was clenched tightly. Where his skin wasn't flushed with angry red blotches, it was a gruesome shade of grey. He was sweating, but he looked like he was cold.

Harry quickly reached into the pack and pulled out the cloak. He enlarged it and tucked it around Draco's trembling body, then after a moment's consideration, he reached under the cloak and grabbed Draco's hand. "Draco?" He squeezed. "Hey, Draco, can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can bloody well hear you, Potter," Draco said between chattering teeth.

The sarcastic tone actually made Harry feel better. "Draco, I'm going to go looking for the wild basil. I'm not going to go too far away, but in case you need me, I don't want you to panic. I should only be gone about twenty minutes –"

"Harry," Draco croaked, interrupting him. "You're... forgetting something."

"What?"

"Two of us... one Mislocator. You _can't_ go too far." He moaned softly and clutched the cloak tight against his chin, but Harry didn't notice.

Harry was too busy trying to swallow the block of ice that had somehow become lodged in his throat. He hadn't thought of that. There was no way he could move Draco without making him worse, but if the plant wasn't within the specified radius, moving would be the least of Draco's problems. He absently gave Draco's hand another squeeze, then tucked the cloak back around his trembling body. Determined not to give up so easily, Harry began working his way outwards from Draco, searching in a slow spiral. In the back of his mind, he latched onto one thought: He was Harry Potter. No matter how bad things seemed, he had always found a way. Behind that thought, he deliberately ignored angry memories of Cedric Diggory's lifeless body.

Twenty minutes later, he'd combed every inch he dared to search, but no trace of the plant. With a heavy sigh, he returned to the cauldron, which was bubbling away merrily, and added the plantain. Instantly, the water went from clear with a hint of brown to an opaque greenish yellow. Simple ingredients, but under the right conditions, the subtle magical properties were enhanced. If the situation had been any less dire, Harry might have enjoyed pondering such simple yet elegant magic, but at the moment, he was too frantic to allow such placid thoughts.

Using the blade of Draco's dagger, Harry stirred anticlockwise forty times, carefully counting each stroke. Then he laid the dagger aside and picked up the sliced snakeroot. He added it, piece by piece, until suddenly a small puff of red smoke heralded the change. Harry peeked into the cauldron to see that the mixture had indeed turned a rich shade of blood red. He nodded in tight-lipped approval. Now, there was nothing to do to the potion for another fifteen minutes, at which time, he needed to add the basil and the venom simultaneously. Until then, all he _could_ do was to search the area one more time.

His eyes roamed over the damp earth, and the multitude of interesting plants, but nothing that remotely resembled wild basil. In the absence of a discovery, Harry's mind started to replay the events that had led up to the snakebite.

Draco had gone off on his own, poking around for some random plant or another. _Why did I have to get him fixed on these wild potions plants?_ Harry berated himself. _My fault. He wouldn't have gone messing around in the brush if it hadn't been for me._

A sharp scratch on Harry's arm distracted him for a moment. He looked down bemusedly. _Well, there's Draco's hawthorn. Fancy that._ He shook his head to himself and looked back down at the ground. He wasn't searching for a tree. He needed a small plant.

Harry walked past the spot where Draco had been bitten, and recognized the mugwort growing there. That must have been what Draco had been going for. _But mugwort is so common! Why did he care about getting a handful of that? Snape must have a dozen jars of dried leaves._

 _Doesn't matter. I should have warned Draco before he stuck his hand in there. And I_ should _have recognized that I was hearing Parseltongue sooner! How could I have been so stupid? I was distracted... What the hell was I thinking about? After everything he's done for me, why now? He's not going to die... it's not usually fatal... but he looks so ill. I can't stand this. It's not going to happen this way. Not like this... I'm not going to lose him._

Harry stared blankly at the spread of the forest undergrowth. He wasn't going to find wild basil. It simply wasn't there, but how could he just give up? He didn't have a choice; there was nothing left for him to do. At the same time as that thought was settling like a brick in his gut, a memory was tugging at the back of his mind. Something about the difference between Muggle classifications of plant families, and magical classifications. He remembered being surprised that plants which were completely unrelated in a biological sense could be grouped magically.

A shaky grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. It was crazy, but it just might work.

*********

The pain of the Cruciatus curse was worse, Draco thought distantly through the fog in his head, but at least when it was over, it was over. This pain clung sickly to every bone in his body, every muscle, every vein. His stomach churned, his lungs were thick and heavy, and the feeling just kept getting worse. Somewhere, under the pain, he was aware that Harry was trying to brew the antidote, but the chances that he'd found all the ingredients were slim. Draco hadn't been willing to admit that aloud to himself, nor had he wanted to let Harry know how rare wild basil was – hope was a powerful motivator. Right now, however, Draco just hoped he'd pass out soon.

He distantly noticed movement behind his head, but he didn't have the presence of mind to react to it. It took him by surprise when a pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and attempted to lift him, and he cried out as the pain magnified itself threefold.

"Easy there, Draco. It's me."

"Harry... oh fuck, this hurts."

"I'm sure it does. I've got something for you... so let's just hope my brewing skills aren't as bad as Snape says they are."

"You found –"

He was cut off as a cup was placed against his mouth. Under more coherent conditions, Draco might have questioned consuming a potion brewed by anyone but a professional or himself, but he was in no state to argue. That, and the fact that he was willing to try almost anything if only the pain would stop. He drank.

The liquid tasted sour, sharp, and faintly spicy; not particularly palatable, but better than some potions he'd encountered. He quickly drained the small amount of liquid in the cup.

At first, he didn't think it had worked. Then, through the pain, he began to feel a churning warmth in the pit of his stomach. His breath caught as every muscle in his body clenched violently. He gritted his teeth, trying to ride it out, only distantly aware of Harry's arms around him, or Harry's voice in his ear. By the time his muscles unknotted themselves, the pain was fading away with the knots. Draco felt so spent that all he could do was to collapse back against Harry, gasping for air.

Finally, the pain was nothing more than a faint tingling in his limbs and a slight burn in his stomach, almost like too much cheap wine. Draco blinked hard as he assessed his situation. The wind was cool on his face, not freezing. The field and trees were no longer a blur, and while his stomach still seemed to be twisting around a bit, it was tolerable. He let out a choked laugh that sounded more like a sob.

"You did it."

Harry's arms squeezed once around him. "Don't thank me yet. Can you sit up?"

Draco nodded, and was immediately helped into a sitting position. Harry knelt in front of him, unceremoniously grabbed his arm, and pulled back his sleeve. The angry red lines which had radiated out from the bite itself were retracting towards the punctures before his eyes. The site still hurt a bit, and there was still some swelling, but it was obvious that the poison had been neutralized.

Draco laughed again, and this time, it was a lot easier. He tried to compose himself. "It took you long enough," he drawled, attempting to compensate for the tears threatening to leak out of his eyes.

Harry finally laughed too. "Yup, you're definitely yourself again. Oh well, it could be worse." He shook his head with a resigned sigh. "Come here."

"Huh?"

Harry reached forward and pressed a hand against Draco's cheek, then his forehead. Before Draco could question it further, Harry had grasped his wrist, and was checking his pulse.

"Potter, what the hell are you doing?"

"Checking to make sure there are no side effects. How does your stomach feel? Can you take a deep breath?"

Draco supposed he should simply answer Harry's questions, but he was too irked by the unexpected fawning to let it go at that. He pulled his wrist away from Harry's fingers. "Harry, if you followed the formula I gave you, then I'm sure it's going to be fine."

Harry's mouth twisted into a frown. "Actually, if I followed the formula you gave me, the resulting explosion would have blown us both up, or poisoned you."

" _What_?"

Harry gave a laugh which sounded anything but entertained. "You became a bit... er... incoherent about halfway through the instructions. You started talking about dragon scales, salamander bile, toad livers, and pineapple."

Draco felt his mouth go dry. "Then... then how did... how did you..."

"Don't worry. By the time you finished describing the first two steps of the potion, I recognized it myself. I had been so nervous at first that I hadn't even realised I knew the antidote, but once you'd tipped me in the right direction, I remembered. After my experience with a basilisk, and then knowing that Voldemort has a thing for snakes, I figured snakebite remedies might come in handy. So, I actually paid attention in that lesson." Harry smiled. "Good thing, too. Heh. Pineapple."

Draco couldn't tell if he was shocked, relieved, or just simply grateful that Harry had paid attention in Potions for once. He settled for being far too tired to pick one. "So, why the worry about side effects if you knew how to brew this? There aren't any for this potion, unless you brewed it wrong... and you knew how to brew it... so you did it right. Right? I mean, you didn't make a mistake, did you?"

"Well..."

"Harry?" Draco felt a flash of panic. "And by the way, where did you manage to find wild basil?"

"Well, that's just it," Harry said nervously. He looked like he wanted to hide. "I didn't."

" _What?_ You... what... then how did you...?"

"Substitute," Harry said simply. "Juniper. Supposed to work similarly, but not as strong."

Draco _hadn't_ just heard that. "Harry, please tell me you didn't."

"I had to, Draco! There was nothing else!"

Draco clutched his arm to his chest. "What if you'd made a mistake?"

"Er... that's why I tried it on myself first." Harry seemed to be shrinking backwards, looking very sheepish.

Draco stared at him and shook his head, trying to clear it. "Harry, you can't take an antidote safely unless you've been poisoned."

If anything, Harry seemed even more nervous. "I know."

Realization dawned on Draco, and he grasped Harry's arm and pulled back the sleeve, hoping that his suspicions wouldn't be confirmed. He was almost sick at the sight of two telltale puncture holes on the underside of Harry's forearm. As Draco looked from Harry's arm to his face, emotion boiled over.

"ARE YOU INSANE? You let a bloody snake _bite_ you? On _purpose_? To try an antidote with a _substituted ingredient_? What kind of _stupid_ , self-sacrificing, hero boy GRYFFINDOR would go and willingly let a poisonous reptile sink its fangs into his arm?" By now, Draco had grasped Harry by the shoulders and was shaking him with each emphasis point. "And what if you'd been _WRONG_? What if the antidote _hadn't worked_? What if you'd _poisoned_ yourself twice over? What if you... you..."

Draco's voice trailed off as he looked into Harry's eyes. Harry actually looked... well... upset.

"What if I hadn't? You didn't leave me," Harry said quietly. "I wasn't going to leave you."

Draco let that statement permeate his brain, which was still rather foggy. He wasn't sure if Harry meant he wasn't going to leave Draco behind, or that he wasn't going to let him continue to suffer until the poison worked its way out of his system naturally. Or maybe Harry meant that he wasn't going to die of the poison himself, thereby leaving Draco alone. Or... maybe he meant all of them. Draco stared at Harry for a long moment, not sure what he could say to that.

He let go of Harry and sat back with an awkward thud. His head was beginning to ache, and he wasn't sure if it had anything to do with the snakebite. Pressing his forehead against the heel of his hand, he shook his head to himself, muttering. "You stupid, stupid, crazy, selfless, stupid Gryffindor."

"Er... you're welcome?"

Draco cast a sideways glance at Harry. "Now don't _ever_ do something that fucking stupid again," he said weakly.

Harry's face was unreadable, and Draco couldn't tell if he was becoming defensive, or if he simply knew that this was Draco's way of coping. "It's not like I had many other choices."

Draco let his scowl soften. "No, I suppose not."

"And I told the snake not to bite hard. The amount of venom I got probably would have only left me a little bit sick, so it was worth the risk. And it all worked, so it was definitely worth the risk." Harry's words sounded like he was trying to justify it to himself, and his eyes seemed to be looking for approval. "I'm just afraid that the antidote won't be quite strong enough to completely neutralize the venom. I mean... if it had been brewed properly, you'd feel perfectly normal now. How _do_ you feel?"

Draco cocked his head as he turned his attention inwards. It had been such a relief when the pain had subsided that he hadn't bothered to notice anything else. Now that he was paying attention, he noticed that he _did_ still feel a bit ill. And cold. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, hoping the motion looked casual enough to be a gesture.

"I'm fine. Really." When it became obvious that Harry wasn't buying it, Draco sighed. "Okay, so my stomach feels a bit funny."

Harry frowned. "You're shivering."

Before Draco could protest, Harry had picked up the cloak, which had fallen to the side, and was pulling it around Draco's shoulders. The little bit of wind caused by the moving cloth forced a deep shiver through him, and he realised that he really was still quite chilled.

_Damn him for patronizing me! Oh fuck, damn him for being right, I'm freezing my bits off._

Instinctively, Draco pulled the cloak tighter around himself.

"Maybe you should lie down for a while," Harry suggested.

"Potter, your potion worked well enough, and I'm fine, and we really ought to be moving again soon anyway, and –"

"Draco, the sun has already set," Harry said with a hint of amusement. "In case you hadn't noticed."

Draco sat up a little straighter, suddenly taking note of the fact that the world around him was lit in the diffuse light of dusk. He really _hadn't_ noticed. "Oh."

Harry's mouth quirked with an attempted smile that didn't quite make it. "And even if it hadn't, you're not going anywhere until you get some rest. The rest of the venom still needs to work its way out of your system. Here, you sit and stay warm while I set up the tent." He flicked his wand at the ground and conjured up a small purple fire. "That should do for now. The ground isn't as dry as I'd hoped, but it'll be fine with a few charms, and the sky is clear. We're here for the night."

Draco almost found himself replying with a resigned _yes, sir_ , but he really didn't even feel like saying that much. Instead, he just nodded and stared into the flames. Off to the side, Harry began setting up the tent at the very edge of the field, where they'd have just a bit of overhead cover from the trees. Although Draco had always been used to servants and house-elves doing everything for him, for the past several days, he and Harry had set up camp together every night. It felt _odd_ not to be helping, but at the same time, he knew Harry was taking care of him. He supposed he should be grateful, but somehow, he felt more guilty than anything.

"Harry?" The word came out a bit more strained than he'd intended.

The other boy paused in his task. "Yes?"

"I... thank you."

Harry didn't seem to react for a moment, but then a soft smile spread across his face. A real smile this time, however small it was. "I understand." The unspoken _you're welcome_ hung warmly in the air between them, clearer than when he'd said it aloud.

While Harry returned to the task of setting up camp, Draco pulled the cloak up tighter around him. _So much for avoiding wildlife_ , he thought sullenly. The previous two days had been so idyllic, he'd almost let himself forget that they were on the run, in danger, in the wilderness, with no protection but their wands and each other. It had almost felt like a time and place away from the rest of the world, where the rules were different somehow. Like the rules didn't apply anymore.

It was in that moment that Draco developed a sudden respect for rules. Rules meant structure. Structure meant safety. Under the cloak, he squeezed his forearm impulsively.

Here, the only rules were the ones he and Harry created for themselves... and the pressure imposed by the waxing moon, which was now visible hovering above the trees on the far side of the field. Draco swallowed once and looked away.

"Draco, the tent is set up."

Draco looked up at Harry, who was pulling aside one of the flaps of the tent, inviting him in. He sighed to himself. Regardless of whether or not Harry thought it had been worth the risk of potentially poisoning himself twice, his actions told Draco something more clearly than words. Harry was willing to risk his life for Draco.

Harry might have the emotional intelligence of a Flobberworm – _oblivious Gryffindor_ – but his loyalties were strong and straightforward. _And reckless. Don't forget reckless._

Draco sighed deeply as he stood on slightly unsteady legs. He gave Harry what he hoped was a reassuring nod as he ducked into the tent, but he didn't feel like speaking. He was tired, his head still hurt, and he couldn't quite stop thinking about what Harry had just done for him.

Harry settled under the cloak with him, but was lying on his stomach, looking out across the field through the open flap of the tent. Apparently, he wasn't in the mood to sleep yet, but he didn't seem to want to talk much either, or at least, he wasn't going to push conversation. Draco was grateful for that. He didn't feel like talking either. He was exhausted, and he could still feel the residual ache in his stomach. He fell asleep quickly, but even with Harry warm against his back, it was a long time before his restless slumber quieted into the depths of sleep where his body could heal.

*********

"Draco?"

A hushed voice whispered in Draco's ear. He opened one eye partway to see that it was the middle of the night. The tent flap was still open, and a soft breeze was ruffling his hair. The cloak was warm, he had been blissfully free from dreams so far that night, and he had no intention of allowing himself to be fully awoken. Hoping that Harry hadn't seen him open his eye, he quickly shut it again and settled back into the warmth of the cloak.

A hand grasped his shoulder firmly and shook it. "Draco! Wake up!"

Harry's voice was still a whisper, but it was far more persistent this time.

And Draco was now far more determined _not_ to be roused. He was tired, and his head still hurt. With a grunt, he grabbed the edge of the cloak, pulled it up to his chin, and turned his shoulder squarely away from his tormentor.

A split second later, the cloak was ripped from his body.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Potter?" he snapped as he sat up in a flash. "As you well know, I had a very traumatic day! I was warm, comfortable, and _asleep_ and you had to –"

He was sharply cut off as Harry's hand sealed itself over his mouth.

Harry's face was inches from his own, eyes wide and easily visible in the dim light. "Shh! Be quiet, or you'll scare them away!" he exclaimed breathlessly.

Draco shook his face free of Harry's grasp and rubbed at his aching temples, but for the sake of argument, kept his voice down. "What the hell are you talking about? Scare who away?"

Harry merely grinned back at him broadly and inclined his head towards the field. He was obviously excited about something.

Rolling his eyes, Draco figured it would be easier to merely humour Harry's strange behaviour if he ever wanted to get some sleep. With a melodramatic sigh, he turned towards the open field –

– and his breath caught in his throat.

All over the field, small lights, each no larger than his hand, were floating just above the tops of the grasses. They moved in no particular pattern, yet they all seemed to be dancing in time to unheard music. The field itself seemed to glow with magic; a pearly blue iridescence that left the moon and stars pale in comparison.

Draco sat frozen at the sight, hardly noticing that his throat was still quite choked up. Were it not for the remnants of his headache, he would have been irreversibly convinced that he was dreaming. It was beautiful. It was otherworldly. It was...

"It's what your nurse told you about, isn't it?" Harry asked softly next to him. "The fairies. Fairy rings. They're real."

Draco spared a split second to glance at Harry, whose face was softly outlined in the pale blue light. He was still staring out at the field in awe, mouth slightly opened, eyes wide as though desperately trying to take in more of the sight. Draco highly suspected that his own expression was a close match. He turned back towards the field and whispered, "Yeah." It was all he could think to say.

In front of him, the fairies continued their unearthly dance. The rest of the world didn't exist. No dangers. No rivers, snakes, pits, Death Eaters, or Voldemort. Even the fact that he'd been rudely awoken from a blissful sleep had been completely forgotten. There was the grass, the soft breeze, the earth beneath him, the stars and moon above, all serving as nothing but mere props to the strange but beautiful performance that existed for his eyes alone.

His... and Harry's. The lights flickered across Harry's face, and Draco's attention shifted from one startling sight to the other. He'd caught Harry looking at him a few times over the past couple of days, and now he was doing it himself, but he didn't even realise he was staring.

"It's beautiful," Harry breathed softly.

"Yeah," Draco said again.

Harry glanced sideways at Draco with a mischievous grin on his face. "So... you forgive me for waking you up, I assume?"

The odd glint in Harry's eye caused Draco's reply to die on his tongue, and instead, he nodded. Harry tipped his head in acknowledgement and looked back out across the field, and Draco finally found himself able to breathe normally again. Whatever he was feeling was simply not normal. He couldn't tell if it was painful or pleasurable, but the strange warmth had settled in his chest, making his heart beat a little too fast, and his breath a little too shallow. Draco looked back out at the fairies again.

_It's just the fairies. Matilda always said that fairy magic leaves people entranced. That's all._

Draco had just started to convince himself of that when Harry let out a sudden laugh.

"What's so funny?"

Harry laughed again. "Do you hear it?"

Draco cocked his head. "Hear what?"

But Harry didn't answer. Before Draco could react, Harry had launched himself forward in a blur, racing across the field wildly.

"Harry!" Draco sat in shock for a moment before realizing that he ought to follow. If Harry got too far away, the Mislocator would be useless. He scrambled to his feet and began running, ignoring the last traces of the weakness left by the snake venom. "What are you doing!" he called out as he ran, trying desperately to catch up. "Have you gone mad?"

Ahead of him, Harry ran in odd zigzags through the grass, whooping and laughing, arms outstretched like wings. For a split second, Draco thought he really was going to fly. Rather than scaring the fairies away, the glowing creatures seemed to sense what Harry was doing, and they joined into his madness, swirling around him, following him.

Draco stumbled to a standstill in the middle of the field, breathing hard, watching in disbelief as Harry ran through the field in broad spiralling sweeps, with a swirl of fairy lights trailing behind him. It was as though Harry was one of them, as though he belonged there; a creature of pure magic. Draco quickly lost track of everything else, watching Harry's antics. Swoop around, spiral, sprint forward, swoop again, like he was flying. Soon, Draco realised that Harry was indeed flying, at least, in his mind. His movements were Seeker's manoeuvres. Even on the ground, he looked graceful, not like the lanky refugee he was.

Suddenly, Harry was running right at Draco. Before he could react, Harry had grabbed his hands, and they were whirling together, spinning around a common centre of gravity. The shadowy world beyond Harry's face blurred, and the fairies turned into streaks of blue light. Harry was laughing freely, throwing his head back and letting the motion take him, and Draco found that he was laughing too. His hands grasped tightly to Harry's, and he could feel Harry squeezing back, not letting him go, locked in their whirl of light and shadow.

Every worry and care faded away. There was nothing but the lights, the ground beneath his feet, the starry sky above, and Harry. It was the happiest Draco had ever felt.

Finally, after forever, and far too soon, Harry slowed them both, and they fell softly into the grass.

Draco lay still on his back as the world kept spinning around him, feeling the rush of air in his chest as he caught his breath. It burned, but it felt so wonderful, so alive. Above, the fairies continued their dance as though nothing had happened, swirling around Harry and himself at the centre of their ring. Next to him, he felt the warmth of Harry's arm barely touching his own, heard the sound of Harry's quick breathing.

"That was..." Harry started, "That was... it was..."

"Absolutely incredible," Draco finished for him.

It was Harry's turn to reply with a vague, "Yeah."

There was a rustling in the grass beside Draco, and a hand held out over his face. He grasped Harry's hand and let himself be pulled up to a seated position. His mind still reeling from what had just happened, Draco looked around. The grasses had dried completely from the rains of the previous day, and were standing tall, just higher than his and Harry's heads, leaving them secluded in a small nest of grass and light. Turning his attention to Harry, Draco's heart skipped a beat again.

Even in the blue light, Harry's face was obviously flushed. His hair was whipped back from his face, standing wildly in all directions. The most obvious thing though, even in the fairy light, were his eyes, which almost glowed with a brilliant intensity.

He was smiling at Draco widely, mouth open to catch as much air as possible. "I can't believe... it's so..."

"Harry, don't talk," Draco cut him off. "For once, don't say anything. You've already made your point. Enjoy it."

Harry nodded and turned his gaze away, staring in rapt attention at the lights above him. This gave Draco the perfect opportunity to study him freely. It hardly seemed possible that this was the same face that had glared defiantly at Voldemort. Somewhere under this face was the person who still intimidated Draco. The powerful Harry Potter who did things Draco could never do, who was so much stronger, who Draco envied and couldn't help but admire. But Harry Potter was nowhere to be seen. Now, it was just Harry. Harry who had saved Draco's life. Harry who had stood sheepishly in the river while Draco had calmly Summoned the fish for dinner. Harry who had risked poisoning himself for Draco. Harry, whose face almost seemed to be glowing with its own magic, which made Draco all but forget the fairies.

They were so close, Draco noticed with a start. Faces barely more than a foot away from each other. Legs brushing side to side. So close... and it felt so comfortable. Perhaps that was because they had already become close. There were some things you couldn't go through with a person without forming a tight bond, and a near brush with death was one of those things. Several such incidents, and... well... Draco was suddenly quite sure that his friendship with Harry would be completely unlike any other he could ever have. Here, away from everything familiar and miles from civilisation, Draco felt less alone than he ever had in his life. Here, sitting side by side in a fairy ring with Harry Potter.

And Draco knew he wouldn't want to be there with anyone else.

Slowly, unsure of exactly why he was doing this, he reached out his hand and gently rested it on Harry's leg. Harry looked down, eyes still wide, but this time, with surprise. Suddenly embarrassed, Draco pulled his hand away, but Harry reached out and caught it, their clasped hands hovering between them.

"It's okay," Harry said with relaxed but unreadable expression on his face. "I understand."

 _No, you don't,_ Draco thought plaintively, _because I don't understand it myself._ Outwardly, he merely nodded.

Harry smiled and released his hand. Draco let his own hand hover in the air for a moment before letting it drop into his lap. He looked down at it, and suddenly, the carefree joy he'd felt moments ago was replaced by a sinking feeling. Why the hell had he just done that? What had that been for? It was completely ridiculous.

"I'm sorry," Draco said into his lap.

Harry didn't respond for a moment, and Draco felt sure that Harry must be re-evaluating the entire event. He was probably confused. He was probably irritated, or even angry. He was –

He was picking up Draco's hand again, squeezing it tightly with his right hand and enfolding it with his left. "I said it's okay, Draco. It's a little strange out here, that's all. But it's amazing. There's something about this place... I'm sure you can feel it. You know what I mean. And I know... I wouldn't want to be here with anyone else, either."

Without dropping Draco's hand, Harry cocked his head to the side, and a huge smile blossomed across his face again. "Listen! Do you hear it? You _have_ to be able to hear it from here!"

"Hear what?" Draco asked, utterly perplexed at the same question Harry had asked just before he'd dashed headlong into the ring.

"Just listen."

"But –"

"Just listen."

So Draco listened. Moments stretched out, with his hand still tightly clasped in Harry's. He listened to the wind in the grass, the rustling of leaves. He squirmed. There was the fluttering of some nocturnal bird's wings, the faint buzz of some insects. He fidgeted, strained to listen, but there was nothing.

"Harry, there's nothing. This is –"

"You're trying too hard. Just relax. It's there. It's all around."

"Harry –"

Harry squeezed his hand again. "Just relax."

Trying not to think about how silly he felt, Draco took a deep breath and closed his eyes. For a minute, nothing changed. Then, just as his mind was beginning to drift, he caught something. Faint at first, but then louder and clearer as seconds passed.

It was a bright chiming, light and melodious. The sound seemed to go right through Draco, and he gasped in amazement. He opened his eyes, but the sounds didn't stop. Now he could see that the fairies were indeed moving in rhythm to actual music. The music was inside his head, and Draco felt as though he should be moving too; dancing, flying. Now he knew exactly why Harry had run off like he did.

Draco looked back at Harry's face. Again, Harry was gazing up at the fairies, eyes shining. As Draco watched, the shining in Harry's eyes collected at the corners, and slowly, at tear ran down each cheek, the open mouthed smile of awe never fading from his face. For all that Harry had been tormented and disillusioned his entire life, underneath that hardened surface, he really did still have a sort of innocence that Draco could have never expected, but that only made it so much more amazing.

And beautiful.

And Draco wanted to protect him.

Which only reminded him that he couldn't.

Draco averted his gaze from Harry's face and looked up again. In the sky, beyond the dancing fairies, the stars twinkled faintly, and the moon...

The moon, noticeably larger than a half moon, suddenly looked threatening. In the middle of the field, where Draco had felt so safe moments before, he felt terrifyingly exposed. He pulled his hand from Harry's grasp, wrapped his arms around himself, and shivered.

"Hey... you okay?" Harry was staring at him with a sudden look of concern. "Is it the venom?"

"Of course. Absolutely fine," Draco said lightly. "Just felt a chill there. That's all."

Harry's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Do you want to go back to the tent?"

Draco thought about that. It was tempting, and he did feel exposed, but he couldn't voice his irrational fear to Harry.

"No, just... it's not important."

Harry assessed Draco with a piercing gaze. He tipped his head to the side thoughtfully, then pulled out his wand. " _Accio cloak and pack!_ "

A moment later, their hasty campsite had been reassembled in the middle of the field. The Invisibility Cloak tent was dissembled, and the Cloak itself used only as simple concealment over their warmer cloak. It wouldn't rain any more that night. Draco pulled his half of their makeshift blanket around himself, and spread the other half out for Harry.

"Thanks," Draco said softly as he adjusted his half of the cloak.

"No problem. We do need to get some sleep anyway, as much fun as that was." Harry sighed. "You sure you're okay?"

"Do you need me to beat you about the head? I already said I'm fine."

Harry smiled sadly, and Draco felt a sharp twinge of guilt. In his pocket, he ran his hand over the notches on the counting stick. Ten. And he'd forgotten to cut one before they'd fallen asleep last night. Even with the blissful influence of the fairies washing over his mind like a balm, the harsh reality was breaking through. They were running out of time, and he had no idea how much farther they needed to go. He shouldn't be having fun at a time like this. There were more pressing things. They needed rest so they could travel fast. Time was slipping away.

He glanced up at the moon again, which was still staring down at him menacingly. There was no way Harry could have missed the shudder that ran through him again, which was confirmed when Harry slid over next to him.

"Draco, lie down and rest. I shouldn't have woken you up like that. After the snakebite and all, you needed to sleep."

Draco snorted softly. "Harry, it's not the snakebite. Your antidote worked really well, better than I would have thought possible with a substituted ingredient. And I'm glad you woke me up… I wouldn't have wanted to miss this for anything. I... I was just thinking about other stuff. Home. You know."

Harry smiled sympathetically. "It's okay, I understand. We've survived this far, and we're getting closer. We'll get there when we get there, and you'll have a nice warm bed, and it'll all be fine. That's what I keep telling myself."

Draco nodded, but didn't trust his voice. With a shaky sigh, he pulled the cloak up to his chin and lay down with his back to Harry. Behind him, Harry shifted, but didn't lie down. A hand rested lightly on Draco's shoulder.

"You know, if you need anything... anything at all... just let me know. I'll listen"

It was all Draco could do to nod.

Harry took a deep breath, and a moment later, Draco felt Harry's warm back pressed against his own. It was comforting, but he still felt too far away. Draco tried to close his eyes and sleep, but the fairy lights danced before his eyes, which were peeled wide open. He listened for the chimes, hoping the soothing sound would help, but there was nothing but silence. He almost wanted to cry.

Gradually, he felt Harry's breathing slow, and soon, he knew that Harry was fast asleep, blissfully unaware of his own personal danger or of Draco's duress and worry. It wasn't fair! Not fair that Draco felt like his insides were being tied in knots while Harry slept peacefully. Not fair that Harry was subconsciously listening to the sweet music of the fairy ring, while Draco's own inner turmoil had rendered the song silent to his ears. Not fair that Draco was back to back with the one person he could honestly say he felt closest to in the world, yet he felt so completely alone and isolated.

Draco rolled over in place, facing Harry's back under the cloak, and reached out to tap Harry on the shoulder. His fingers were hovering just above Harry's neck when he hesitated. Stopped completely. Withdrew his hand and wrapped his arms tightly around himself and bit his tongue out of his sudden, inexplicable sense of shame. He couldn't wake Harry up. What would he say? What _could_ he say? And why was he going to wake Harry in the first place?

He wasn't about to ruin this for Harry. How many people had ever spent a night in a real fairy ring? It was too incredible, and Draco didn't feel he could forgive himself if he woke Harry for something that could be discussed later. Or, in the case of Draco's own personal worries, not at all.

Now that his own entrancement by the fairy magic had worn off, Draco realized with a sudden sense of embarrassment just how ridiculous he'd been acting all along. Holding Harry's hand? Touching his leg? He hadn't wanted to do that, had he?

Draco closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He wasn't sure what he'd wanted, but regardless, he never should have done it. Then again, there were a lot of things he never should have done.

Finally, Draco fell into an uneasy sleep, facing Harry's back, with the sick sensation of regret clinging to his ribs.

*********

There was no mistaking where he was, although for several long moments in the darker-than-blackness, Draco desperately tried to block out anything but the fleeting hope that he wasn't trapped in the familiar nightmare personally designed for him by Voldemort.

_I'm not really here. I'm not really here. This isn't happening. I'm curled up under the cloak, sleeping with Harry. I'm safe. I'm safe..._

The familiar laugh rumbled around him through the void, but if it was even possible, the tone was even more cruel than before. The hatred and fury rolled across him in waves.

" _Safe? You try to fool yourself with the delusion that you are_ safe _, Malfoy?"_

"I am safe," Draco whispered silently to himself. "You can't touch me. I'm safe. Harry's here. He won't let you have me. And I won't let you have him."

_"Make no mistake, Malfoy. I already have you. You are mine, within my reach. You are merely beyond my grasp at the moment. In the end, it will be the same. You wait. I'll have you."_

Despite his barely restrained panic, something about that phrase actually brought a bemused grin to Draco's non-face.

_"You find something amusing, little boy?"_

_What do I have to lose? I'm dead anyway, right?_ "Yes, I do."

 _"The dead boy becomes bold, I see."_ The hissing voice cut through him, and the sound brought back the memory of his last encounter with a serpent. Even without a body in this place, he imagined he could feel the ghosts of the snake's fangs in his arm. That little snake was nothing compared to the one hissing at him now. _"So, stupid child, enlighten me. What is so amusing?"_

Draco was afraid, but there was something veiling his fear. He felt reckless, but it felt good. Maybe Harry's Gryffindor stupidity _was_ rubbing off on him, but he didn't care. It didn't matter. "You are, you blundering oaf!"

When there was no immediate retaliation, Draco let loose a laugh in the darkness. "You can't touch me! You can't find us! You could have killed Harry before, but you didn't, and you lost him! And you won't have him back! And you won't have me!"

Draco was sure that if he had had a body in this place, his blood would be rushing in his ears, his breath would be shallow, and he'd be feeling that dizzy sort of elation that a suicidal person must feel just as he steps over the edge of a cliff.

The pitch blackness suddenly took on a tint of red, like the colour of old dried blood. Draco thought he saw two smoky pinpricks of sharper red standing out in the distance, but he couldn't be sure. The voice around him boomed like thunder.

_"I OWN YOU, MALFOY!"_

"No," Draco said thoughtfully, "I think you had me on loan, but the lease is up."

Voldemort's voice pierced through him like fangs, burning him. _"You are foolish not to recognize your situation, but your life is already forfeit to me, regardless. But MAKE NO MISTAKE, I will watch Malfoy blood spilt on my glorious night, as the moon shines blood red."_

Draco felt a brush of cold reality cut through his hot giddiness. "Decided to save my mother for the grand finale then? Didn't bother to kill her yet?" he asked, trying to sound like he didn't care. There was nothing he could do either way.

An image flashed through Draco's mind: his mother, hanging from chains on a dungeon wall. Blood streaked her previously fine silk robes, and her limbs were twisted unnaturally in their restraints. Her eyes were closed, and her chest wasn't moving. The image was gone just as quickly as it came, but for the first time since this vision had started, Draco felt his emotions crack.

"But then... you... what..."

" _Before your time, your father gave himself to me in the same way you did. Except he is not the cowering fool his spawn is. A shame his bloodline is forever tainted. He will die, little brat, for your mistakes."_

_No..._

_"Oh, does the fool miss his daddy? Too late for that now, boy. And you wanted to make him so_ proud _. You've shamed him."_

_Oh no..._

_"Your greatest wish, wasn't it? To have your father's pride? To be the son he wanted? You are nothing but a failure, boy. You've lost your father, just as you will lose Potter, and you will die yourself when the time is right."_

That was the heavy hammer stroke. His cracked and broken façade fell apart completely, leaving his core exposed to the void. "NO! No, don't do it! Not my father! He was loyal! NO! Merlin, please, help, NO! Never wanted... to betray my father... no... just wanted him to be proud of me... Father..."

Draco collapsed in a sobbing heap as all the emotions he'd hidden under his mask of foolhardy defiance overwhelmed him. _Harry, please, get me out of this! I can't take this any more... please help me..._

_"I will have Potter here, so I can watch his body collapse lifeless at my feet, or your father shall take his place!"_

"No," Draco protested weakly between sobs. "You won't have Harry. I won't let you..." _Harry, please..._

It might have just been his wishful thinking, but for a brief moment, Draco almost felt as if Harry were there. Not holding his physical body as he had before, back in the waking world, but present in the void, standing beside him. It was faint, and it was probably nothing more than a hallucination, but Draco clung to the illusion like a lifeline. He couldn't compose himself entirely, but the convulsive sobs quieted, just enough.

As soon as the sobbing stopped racking his chest painfully, he felt the immediate pressure of Voldemort's mind against his, trying to twist his thoughts from inside his head, piercing through his consciousness. It was a dull agonizing pressure that felt so heavy, and Draco tried to push it away, but it was spearing deeper into his thoughts. He could feel himself weakening under the assault.

_Harry, help..._

The sensation of Harry's presence increased, and Draco felt a tiny spark of confidence. Not much, but it felt good. He tried to grip it through the void, and with that tiny boost of strength, he pushed the sharp probe in his mind again. This time, it budged.

Voldemort's immediate response to the repulsion was fury. _"You are MINE, boy! You will do as I say, or you will suffer for my pleasure!"_

The red glow intensified through the blackness, and Draco heard a hiss of pain. He wasn't sure if it was from himself, or from somewhere else, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to be weak, and he wasn't going to be toyed with.

"I WAS NEVER YOURS! AND YOU'LL NEVER HAVE ME!"

" _I OWN YOU! CRUCIO!"_

Time seemed to slow as the bright flash of the curse burst through the darkness. _He can't be doing that. If he could have, he would have sooner. He's just trying to intimidate me. It won't hurt. IT WON'T HURT! Unless he figured out how to... or was saving this weapon... or –_

Draco had no more time to think before the curse struck him. He had no body, but he had pain. He _was_ pain. Burning from the inside out, stabbing from the outside in. Everywhere. It was eating through him, devouring him, killing him. He would die in the reddened darkness, alone. Harry couldn't save him, he couldn't save himself. Voldemort had him. Voldemort _owned_ him.

His last shreds of conscious thought were about to be consumed by the pain when he felt something wrap around him. Instantly, the pain dulled. Disappeared.

A voice screamed in his ear. _"Get out of here, Draco! GO!"_ The words dissolved into helpless screaming.

Draco tried to reach out for Harry, but he couldn't. He had a presence, but no body; no arms for reaching, no hands for grabbing. The void began to fade into grey, and Draco felt like he was being pulled backwards. The screams echoed as though from a distance.

Draco came to with the sound of screaming in his ear, and the dim light of morning too bright against his eyes. He was still in the field, but the fairies were gone, and the day was breaking. He tried to sit upright, but found himself restrained by Harry's arms.

Harry's convulsing arms.

He looked in shock to see Harry clinging to him, his whole body shaking with the effects of the Cruciatus curse. Draco had no proof, but he was sure that Harry was somehow caught in the vision he'd just left. Harry's eyes were closed, but it looked like he was actively struggling to open them as he alternately screamed in pain and clenched his mouth shut. He already bitten through his lip, and a bit of blood was trickling across his chin. His wand was lying off to the side.

"HARRY!" Draco wrenched himself loose and immediately grasped Harry's upper arms. "Come out of it, Harry! Wake up, damn you! Fight it! He's just in your mind! It's not the real curse... he's just making you believe it is! You can beat this! Harry!"

Harry continued to thrash and flail in Draco's grip, and Draco felt the icy sensation of helplessness. There was no sign of him coming out of the vision, and while Draco was certain the illusion of pain hadn't lessened, Harry's struggles were beginning to grow weaker as exhaustion began to take hold.

Draco clamped his teeth onto his own lip, trying to think clearly. Harry had pulled him out of one of the visions once... it was possible. How had he done it?

On a flash of impulsiveness, Draco pulled Harry sharply upright and wrapped his arms tightly around the shaking body. He clutched Harry to his chest, fighting against the unconscious jerking and twitching, not caring that Harry was going to leave a few nasty bruises on his torso.

"I've got you, Harry. I've got you. It's not real; he's only got your mind. I've got you. Can you hear me? Come on, Harry! You're stronger than him! I know you are! I've got you. I've got you..."

Harry suddenly gave a single sharp jerk and one loud cry, and Draco knew he'd broken through. In the next instant, Harry collapsed against Draco. His fingers dug painfully into Draco's forearms, and his chest was heaving, not quite gasping, not quite sobbing, but a bit of both. " _Oh, Merlin..._ " he choked.

"Don't talk, Harry. Just breathe. Breathe for a moment."

Harry shook his head against Draco's neck. "I'm fine, I'm fine." He coughed a couple of times, before he managed to draw a proper breath. That seemed to be enough to convince him that he was over the shock of what had just happened, and he pushed back, still shaking, to look at Draco. "God, Draco, are you okay?"

Draco stared back in disbelief. "You just went through _that_ , and you're asking if _I'm_ okay? He only had the curse on me for a couple of seconds before you... " He paused and shot Harry a sharp look. "Crazy, insane hero boy. Are _you_ okay?"

Harry swallowed. He was still breathing hard. "I told you, I'm fine. What did –"

"And how the hell did you get in there? Into the vision?"

"Legilimency," Harry answered simply.

Not that Draco had been expecting any specific answer, but if he had, that wouldn't have been it. "You...how do you know the first thing about Legilimency?"

Harry looked away for a second before he replied. "Snape was teaching me Occlumency last year, and it didn't go over so well. If it had gone better... well... never mind. I really needed to learn it, and I didn't. So this year, starting over the summer – not that Snape was thrilled with having to work with me again – he started with a little bit of theory behind Occlumency _and_ Legilimency before getting into the practical stuff. He didn't actually teach me the Legilimens Spell, but he used it enough times that I might as well have learnt it... Draco, what was Voldemort saying to you?"

Harry slipped the question in so casually that Draco was opening his mouth to answer before he even realised what the question was. As soon as he did, however, he clamped his mouth shut. He couldn't repeat what Voldemort had said. That would be too much. That would make it real.

It was the final threat. The last card Voldemort could play against him, and it was the trump card.

_Father..._

"Draco?" Harry was staring at him with that sympathetic look which could be either comforting or damned annoying. This time, it was a bit of both. "What is it?"

Draco felt his hands start to shake. Then his arms. And his shoulders. The aftershock of the vision was starting to set in now that he was recalling the actual event.

His head was swimming.

_Father... Harry... going to lose them both. Harry's going to die. I can't save him. Fuck, I've been collecting ingredients, but I don't have a bloody clue what to do with them! And Father! He can't! He won't... Father was always loyal! Why on earth would he kill those loyal to him? He's just trying to scare me... that wasn't real... Mother isn't dead, Father won't die..._

But what if it is real? It felt real. He'll kill my dad! He's a madman! Father! Harry...

Draco's thoughts spun around in his head until he was dizzy, and it took him a moment to notice that Harry was gripping his shoulders and shaking him a bit.

"Draco, look at me!"

"Wha...?"

"What did you see? What did Voldemort tell you?"

Draco shook his head in awkward, halting movements. "I... I can't... not right now."

Harry's lips twisted pensively, and he seemed to be debating which was more important: Draco's comfort, or his own need to know. Need-to-know must have won out.

"Draco, what did he say?"

"I SAID NOT NOW!" The words snapped out before Draco could stop them, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to. He was upset, confused, and just then, he didn't want to deal with any of it. "Not now... not now... we need to move."

Harry didn't react for a moment; he looked slightly stunned. "Maybe we should eat breakfast before we –"

"Not hungry," Draco bit out. "Need to move."

Right now, the best place for them to be was Hogwarts. Draco didn't have any idea how much farther they needed to travel, but one thing for sure was that it wouldn't do any more good to sit around and wait. Time was running out. It was amazing how quickly two weeks could disappear. Four more days.

Draco remembered that he hadn't put a notch in his counting stick the previous night, which only spurred his anger even more.

_Three days._

He stood quickly, cursing the fact that one of his legs seemed to have fallen asleep, and began to stalk off unsteadily. Behind him, Harry was making a great deal of noise stuffing the cloaks into the pack. Harry's footsteps rustled the grasses as he rushed to catch up. Draco stiffened, fully expecting Harry to launch into a tirade, demanding to know what was wrong, but he didn't.

Harry settled into step beside Draco and didn't say a word. He incanted a soft " _Point Me!_ " to check their direction, and indicated with a wave of his hand that they were going the right way. When Harry placed an apple in his hand, Draco accepted it with a nod of his head, but didn't say anything.

*********

The morning passed in an uncomfortable silence. They made their way through rocky fields and thin patches of forest, and across small streams, always taking the route with as much overhead cover as possible. Draco didn't have to spell out the fact that he was worried, and if he could just allow Harry to believe that he was merely afraid that Voldemort was going to step up the search effort, then that would work for now. It would keep Harry from pushing the question.

Right now, Draco couldn't handle the questions. He couldn't handle the thoughts ricocheting around inside his head, accompanied by the cold, clammy ghost of Voldemort's mind inside his own. The Dark Lord had to be cracking deeper and deeper into his head each time, he thought. Otherwise, he never would have been able to create the illusion of the Cruciatus.

The actual curse worked directly on the brain, firing off every pain receptor in the body from the inside. It was one of the less grotesque Dark spells, actually; just brutal. So, it wasn't unreasonable for the curse to be triggered from inside the mind. Voldemort had already forged a bridge into his mind, creating terrifying sights and sounds. In truth, the Cruciatus was an easy step from there.

Draco briefly wondered how Voldemort had turned the curse so easily on Harry before he remembered that Harry was connected to Voldemort even more closely.

_Too closely._

Draco wrenched his thoughts away from that track, and noticed he had been absently fingering the ingredients in his pocket. He sighed. _One problem to another._ He pinched one of the quince seeds between two fingers until it hurt, pressing deeply into his skin, and wondered what the hell he was going to do with them.

_Nothing. Absolutely nothing._

He had been collecting the ingredients to ease his own mind, to feel like was doing something productive and taking the initiative, but now, all he could hear was Voldemort laughing in his head, calling him foolish and stupid. And maybe he was. He couldn't do anything to save Harry, or himself, or his father. It was so hopeless. So foolish.

His mind kept drifting from Harry to his father. What the hell was he going to do? Give himself and Harry to save his father? Lucius Malfoy, the man who had come hunting him with Muggle dogs barely a week ago? Who wouldn't hesitate to kill him for Voldemort? Whose loyalty to his own blood extended only as far as Draco's usefulness to the family name?

_But he's my father!_

And then there was Harry... who was... _something._ Something like a friend, but indefinable. Something so very different, something that Draco wouldn't sacrifice for anything.

Which left Draco right where he had started: upset, confused, and without any idea how to proceed. He tried to blank his mind, in hopes that an answer, possibly in the form of Divine Inspiration, would strike him out of the blue, but nothing came. With a silent sigh, he glanced sideways at his companion.

Harry, for his part, was looking everywhere but directly at Draco. He was taking in the landscape, the hills, rocks, trees, and the small stream that was bubbling along the far edge of the field. For a moment, Draco felt a flash of irritation that Harry would be casually sightseeing while Draco was wrapped up in an internal no-win battle, but then he noticed that Harry didn't seem casual or relaxed at all. In fact, he seemed to be scanning the area for possible danger. His posture was tense and rigid, his eyes were wide and alert, and Draco saw that he had his hand firmly on his wand. For that, Draco felt rather stupid that Harry was _doing_ something about possible danger, while he was just bumbling along, hardly paying attention to his surroundings.

 _It's a damn good thing you've got him,_ said the little voice in the back of his head, sounding just a bit tongue-in-cheek.

_Shut up._

"What did you say?" Harry's voice pierced his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"You mumbled something."

"Oh," Draco said, looking away. "Just thinking to myself."

"Thinking about what?"

 _Fuck, Potter, don't start this again._ "Thinking that it will be nice to have something different to eat when we get back. My delicate palate has never been so offended or utterly bored."

Draco felt rather than saw Harry shake his head. "You know I don't buy that for an instant."

"Harry, not now."

"You said that three hours ago."

"And I'm saying it again."

"Draco..."

This time, Harry's hand fell softly on his shoulder. Draco shrugged it away.

"Listen, Potter, I can't deal with this right now."

Instantly, Draco felt the atmosphere change. Harry's hand came down much more heavily, and Draco was halted and spun in place to face Harry.

Not pleased at being manhandled, Draco snarled at Harry. " _What?_ "

"Draco, obviously something is _really_ wrong, and you know what it is! If we're both in some sort of danger, I think you need to tell me."

Draco swatted Harry's hand away. "I can't! There's nothing to tell! It won't make a difference! Nothing will make a fucking difference!"

"What are you talking about? Draco, tell me!"

Harry reached out to grab Draco's arm again, but Draco dodged out of the way, suddenly feeling frantic. He'd kept himself numb all morning, trying to avoid the full emotional impact, but the numbness was wearing away. He didn't want to be touched, but he needed contact. He needed to be held and hidden, he needed to hit something and push the world away. He couldn't speak, but he needed to scream and yell and cry. It was infuriating, and everything was spinning out of his control. He had no idea what emotions were showing on his face, but whatever it was must have stunned Harry, who was looking at him with an expression of helplessness.

He couldn't deal with this. The only thing he could think to do was to run, so he did.

"Draco!"

His name barely reached his ears through the rushing wind, the rushing blood, in his headlong rush across the field. He was dimly aware that Harry was following him, but all he could think to do was to run faster. It was what he'd done his whole life: run away. Always running away. When the tables turned, when he got scared or overwhelmed, he ran. And he was running now.

He stepped into a small hole and tripped, and a sharp pain shot up his right leg, but he barely noticed. In the span of a heartbeat, he was on his feet and running again. There was a small stream coming up, and the woods just beyond that. He could hide in the woods. He wanted to hide. The air burned in his lungs, but he was almost there.

And then, something slammed into him from behind and he was knocked painfully to the ground. He struggled to roll over, and found Harry sitting on him, straddling his legs.

"Let me go! Damn it, Potter, let me go!" Draco lashed out, but Harry grabbed his arms and pinned them.

"And let you go _where_? What the hell are you thinking? And WHAT'S GOING ON?"

With a great heave, Draco pushed Harry off him and scrambled to his feet, but this time he made no move to run. "Why the fuck do you need to know?"

"Because we're in this together!"

Draco's rushing blood became hotter in his veins. "You can't possibly understand what I'm going through right now!"

"Well then why don't you tell me!"

"YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW!"

Harry hesitated for a moment and took a step closer, almost but not quite into Draco's personal space. "Try me."

_So fucking calm... he has no clue... he can't understand... why does he have to look at me like that? Like he cares? I don't want him to care!_

Draco was breathing hard, barely a foot from Harry's face, and for a moment, all he could see was Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived... Boy Who Fucked Up Everything.

"Draco...?"

And Draco struck.

It was a clumsy, slow swing, and Harry blocked it with his forearm before it connected with his head, but before Harry could recover, Draco lunged. He barrelled into Harry's chest, knocking him backwards. They both hit the ground hard, grappling blindly, and Draco felt his nose hit something hard. The hot sting behind his eyes was followed by the metallic smell of blood and a warm trickle from his nose.

Harry suddenly pulled away, and when Draco got to his feet, Harry was standing in front of him, chest heaving, nursing his upper arm, looking very confused. He opened his mouth to speak, but Draco didn't want to hear it. Not now. Listening would mean he'd have to think, and he couldn't let himself think.

Draco rushed again, this time pushing Harry back several steps until they splashed into the shallow stream at the edge of the field. He swung his fists at Harry, not even sure why he wanted to hit him; just so blindly enraged that he couldn't stop.

"Draco! OOOF! What did I do? Hey, stop!"

"I DIDN'T WANT YOU TO KNOW! I DIDN'T WANT TO HURT YOU!" The irony of the fact that he was still swinging his fists, even as he said that, wasn't lost on him, and angry tears began to well up as he continued to flail wildly. He didn't want to hurt Harry, but he was too far gone to stop.

"ACK! What didn't you want me to know? Draco?"

"NO!"

"Draco, _please_!"

Draco's last layer of resistance cracked and the entire world around him became a blur. "IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT! Voldemort is going to kill my father BECAUSE OF YOU!"

"What the hell are you talking about!"

Dimly, he was aware that none of his blows were really connecting – Harry was blocking them – but he didn't care. He was beginning to tire, but he continued to lash out clumsily, screaming.

"NO! It's _not_ your fault! How could I _say_ that? It's MY FAULT! I failed him! I failed everyone! My mother is _DEAD_ , my father is going to _DIE_ , AND THEN HE'S GONNA COME FOR ME!"

"Draco, I promise, I'm not going to let him get you! Please stop! Listen!"

"NO! HE'S GOT YOU TOO! And there's nothing I can do! He's got your _BLOOD_ , YOU STUPID FUCK, but you probably forgot all about that! YOU'RE GOING TO DIE IN THREE DAYS, AND THERE ISN'T A FUCKING THING EITHER OF US CAN DO!"

Draco struck out with another off balance blow, but instead of blocking it, this time, Harry caught his wrist. "What?" he whispered.

"LET GO OF ME!" Draco tried to hit with his other hand, but Harry caught that one too, and suddenly, Draco was struggling madly against Harry's vice-like grip even as fatigue weighed down on him heavily. "Let go! There's nothing I can do! There's nothing you can do! I wanted to save you, but I can't! I can't... I can't even save myself!"

Harry's hands were steel clamps on his wrists, but his face had gone completely slack. Draco tried to struggle more, but he was out of breath, and his muscles were protesting. He felt light-headed, and he remembered that his nose was bleeding. He gave another pull at Harry's grip, but something in him had deflated. "Let me go..."

"No... Draco, what are you saying?" Harry was looking over his shoulder into the distance, with a dazed and lost look on his face. His cheeks had become so pale they were almost sallow, and his glasses were smudged and tipped sideways on his nose. Even though he was still holding Draco captive, he looked small and helpless, like a scared little boy.

It was Draco's undoing.

Exhaustion and emotion finally overwhelmed him, and he collapsed against Harry's chest, shaking.

"He's been threatening me so that I'd bring you back. And when he used the Cruciatus through the vision... I didn't think he could really reach us here... but he can. He can." The words were coming out of Draco's mouth, but he didn't feel like they were his own words. He was distanced from it somehow, like someone else was controlling his mouth. He listened to himself speak, even as his body shook out of his control.

"First, he said he'd kill my mother, and he did it, and now he said he'll kill my father... because he wants to watch you die, and he wants me to bring you back... but it doesn't matter because you're going to die anyway!" Draco choked on his own words and had to swallow twice before he could speak again, or at the very least, croak.

"He's got your blood, Harry. He doesn't even need you there any more. In three days, the eclipse is going to happen, and unless we do something to counteract it, he's going to take that potion, and you're going to die."

"I'm... I'm going to die?" Harry's voice was soft and uncertain in Draco's ear, and Draco leaned back so that he could look into Harry's face. Pale skin, pinpointed pupils surrounded by strained green irises, and a quivering lower lip.

He wanted to say _no_.

_No, Harry, you're not going to die._

_No, I won't let Voldemort have you._

_I'm going to find a counter-curse, and you're going to be just fine, and we're going to be back at Hogwarts soon, and Quidditch season is going to start, and there are going to be Hogsmeade weekends, and I'm going to help you pass NEWT level Potions, and everything will be just fine, and no, you're not going to die._

Harry's question echoed over and over in his head. _I'm going to die?_

He wouldn't lie to Harry, but he couldn't face him either. His body was shaking, and everything was blurry. The world was falling apart around him. Finally Draco's head tipped forward heavily, and he rested his forehead on Harry's shoulder in defeat, dimly aware that he was getting blood from his nose on Harry's shirt, and gave the only answer he could.

"I don't know, Harry. I don't know."

*********

_Confusion that never stops,  
The closing walls and the ticking clocks.  
Gonna come back and take you home,  
I could not stop, that you now know.  
(~Coldplay)_

 


	15. Strategy and Sacrifice

 

Harry stared. He was still standing ankle-deep in the stream, gripping Draco's wrists, staring at Draco's dirt-smudged and blood-smeared face, trying to process what he was hearing. It couldn't be true! Draco wouldn't have kept something like that from him. It was all some practical joke, or maybe he was hallucinating.

But Draco's wrists were solid under his fingers; this was no hallucination. And judging by the spooked look in Draco's eyes and the lines of tension drawn across his face, this was no joke.

 _I'm going to die?_ His question echoed in his mind, over and over. He wasn't even sure he'd said it aloud.

Draco stared back at him, seemingly struggling with his own thoughts. Finally, Draco's head fell forward against his shoulder. Something warm and wet – Draco's blood, Harry realized – was soaking through his shirt. Draco's muffled voice was close in his ear.

_"I don't know, Harry. I don't know."_

Draco's words crashed through his consciousness like shattering glass. The world seemed to be spinning around him. This was too unbelievable. Harry felt his throat squeezing in on itself and his heart thudding unevenly in his chest as the implications sunk in.

_Three days? I've... I've only got three days? No... this is impossible... Voldemort can't touch me here. We escaped. I'm safe... Draco would have told me if there was something... I won't believe it... my God... three days..._

Harry released his grip on Draco's wrists and took an unsteady step backwards, then another. He briefly caught the helpless look on Draco's face, which was now streaked with tears as well as blood and dirt, before he turned and started walking away. The earth was rocking beneath him with each step as he climbed out of the shallow stream and onto dry ground.

"He has my blood," Harry mumbled to himself, trying to process what he knew. "My blood. That's what he needs for the potion. He has my blood. Three days. I'm going to die in three days..."

The world hazed out for a moment, and he fell to his knees.

"Harry!" There was the sound of Draco splashing after him through the stream, and the muffled thud of footsteps on soft earth.

"I... I'm going to die," he said again. It didn't even feel like the words were coming from his mouth. He suddenly felt very cold, and pitched forward as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He caught himself with his hands, and braced himself on all-fours, unable to move, although he felt like he might fall sideways as the ground kept rocking and swaying beneath him.

Draco's hands were on his shoulders, steadying him enough to prevent him from tipping sideways, or completely collapsing; they were the only thing holding him up.

"Harry! Listen, can you hear me? Come on, Harry, talk to me!"

"I..." He shook his head. He could hear Draco, but he couldn't seem to make himself respond. The revelation had been an almost physical blow, and he was still reeling.

"Harry, sit up and look at me."

The direct command didn't reach through to his brain, but it must have reached his body. With Draco's help, he sat back on his feet and was able to look into Draco's face. As he made eye contact, the numbness that had wrapped around him thinned. He noticed how tightly Draco was gripping his shoulders, and how Draco's hands were still shaking, regardless of the iron grip. Draco was scared. And now, Harry was terrified.

"I... I don't want to die." Nothing else was piercing his thoughts except the basic human instinct of self-preservation. The raw emotion congealed into a tight knot in his throat. Hot pressure built behind his eyes, but there were no tears as he choked out a sob. "I don't want to die!"

If anything, Draco's fingers dug even deeper into his muscle. "You're not going to die, Harry!"

"But you... you just said... Voldemort has my blood. We... we can't... stop him... stop it..."

"We'll think of something, Harry!" Draco shook him once. "Or Snape and Dumbledore will! That's why I sent Biddy ahead of us! So she could warn them, and they could start working on a solution!"

Through the shaking, both from Draco's hands, and from his own reeling emotions, Harry let a choked laugh force itself through. "So that's why you were in such a rush to get home. Why didn't you tell me sooner?" He buried his face in his hands, and pushed his fingers under his glasses to rub his eyes.

Harry could feel Draco tense suddenly, an instant before he released Harry's shoulders. "I... don't have a good explanation. I had no right to keep that from you. I... I should have told you sooner."

Harry looked through his fingers. Draco was hunched over, leaning his forehead heavily on his hand. It looked like he was carrying the weight of the world. How _dare_ Draco look so burdened when it was Harry's life slipping away with each passing second! Harry's whirling emotions shifted as anger edged its way in. Half of him knew that Draco was upset and confused, but the other half of him was furious at Draco's weakness, keeping things this important from him. People had kept things from him so many times, and when they did that people got hurt. People died. And now, Harry's life was next in line. The fury suddenly surged.

"Fucking right, you should have told me sooner!" He balled his fists at his sides, not intending to strike, but simply out of the need to grip something. Still, he was pleased to see Draco shrink back a bit at the intimidating gesture.

Draco eyed Harry's fists nervously for a split second before making tentative eye contact. "I tried to tell you... I did. You stopped me, and I didn't push the issue. I just didn't want to deal with it, and... I should have told you sooner," he said again, weaker this time. He turned away.

"And why the hell didn't you?" Harry snarled. "Who cares what I said? Whether I told you not to? You should have known I wouldn't have meant not to tell me something like that! I don't care if it's a good explanation or not! I want to know what sort of nonsense was going through that thick Slytherin skull of yours!"

Draco tried to meet Harry's eyes again, but his head fell. "I... I guess I thought there was time. We'd get back to Hogwarts, and Snape would figure out something. He's good at that. I... thought that if I didn't tell you right away, you wouldn't be scared."

"Nice plan," Harry bit out angrily. Part of him felt bad when Draco flinched, but another part of him was beyond caring.

"I hadn't planned it that way, Harry." He smashed his face harder into his hands. Blood was still trickling down his upper lip from his nose, and he certainly wasn't helping by continuing to abuse it, but he didn't seem to care. "I hadn't planned anything. At least, nothing that worked."

It sounded like he might be crying, but Harry couldn't see his face, and he really didn't care at that point. Harry was too upset – either angry, scared, frantic, or all three – to know how to reply, so he let Draco talk.

"I had planned to use that Portkey thing to get back to Hogwarts, but Biddy couldn't find it. I had planned to get us out of the dungeon before Voldemort took your blood, but I had no idea he'd come for you that early. We were supposed to walk as fast as we could back to Hogwarts, but we kept stopping for different things." A deep shudder ran through his shoulders. "I was going to tell you right away, when we escaped, but you were so weak. And then we were running from the Death Eaters, and I didn't want to worry you more. I didn't want to think about it either, because I didn't want to think about what he might have done to... to my mother... I couldn't talk about it, because talking about it would make it real. And then... things were actually _nice_. And I didn't want… I was afraid to risk ruining that."

He pounded his fist against his thigh. "I ruined everything. It's all my fault. I waited too long, and we might not get back in time." He hit himself again. "There might be nothing they can do even if we _do_ get back. And my father is going to die, and you're going to die, and the Dark Lord is going to get me too! And it's all my fault!"

Suddenly, Draco was striking himself over and over again, pounding his fists against his legs furiously. "How could I do this! It's my fault! So fucking stupid! All my fault!"

The sight spurred Harry into action. He was still angry at Draco, but the sight of his companion beating himself up wasn't something he could deal with just then. "Draco, stop! Hurting yourself isn't going to do any good!" After a few unsuccessful attempts, he managed to catch Draco's hands and stop him from hitting himself anymore.

"Nothing is going to do any good!" Draco cried as he struggled half-heartedly against Harry's grip. "Don't you get it?"

Seeing Draco struggling and yelling brought Harry just a little bit back to himself. He forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to think. Draco seemed to be starting to panic now, and one of them had to think clearly. There was still time. They could still make it through this.

"Well, we can still get back in time, right? You were telling me that just a minute ago. We'll just get back to Hogwarts, and Snape will have the antidote, and everything will be fine!"

Harry felt like he was grasping at straws, but he was hoping that Draco would provide a scrap of assurance. Some sign of determination and certainty that Harry was _not_ going to die. Right now, Harry needed to hear that from someone else. However, when Draco didn't answer him immediately, he felt a sensation like a shard of ice through his gut. "Draco?"

"I... it's just that my... I don't know how much farther we have to go, Harry. We had over a hundred miles, in a straight line. We didn't walk a straight line. You know, mountains, valleys, rivers. And then, we kept stopping. I... I have no idea how much farther."

"We can make it," Harry said, trying to sound sure of himself, but failing. "We just have to start walking, and keep walking. Or running. And Snape will be able to brew the antidote, and it will all be over."

Again, Draco didn't answer. Harry's heart caught. "He will, won't he?"

When Draco finally made eye contact again, he had the most bleak, helpless expression Harry had ever seen.

"There is no antidote, Harry."

" _What_?"

Draco swallowed visibly. "No antidote. No counter-curse. I had the book. The original script on the Soul's Eclipse potion. My father had me studying it because I was supposed to assist in brewing it for You-Know-Who. I memorized that section of the book backwards and forwards, Harry. There was nothing in it about counteracting this sort of thing. If we get to Hogwarts on time, we can only hope that Biddy got the message to Dumbledore, and that Snape has been working on possible antidotes and counter-curses while we've been travelling."

Harry remembered learning about earthquakes in school as a child, and how aftershocks were often as bad as or worse than the initial quake. This secondary revelation took his already abused emotions and pushed them completely over the edge. The world became nothing but a great numbness around him, where all he could feel was his tight and shallow breath in his chest, and everything looked hazy, as through a thick fog. He barely heard himself speaking, as if from a great distance. "Would Snape know much about this potion? Enough to work on a counter-curse or antidote?"

"Snape knows about every potion." Draco made an attempt at a smile, and failed miserably.

Harry could only respond with a dry whisper. "Why do I want to believe you, but can't?"

Draco froze for a second. He sucked in his lower lip and pinched it with his teeth, as if holding back his words until he was sure of what he wanted to say. Finally, he leaned forward and placed his hands solidly on Harry's shoulders.

"I made a promise to you that I was going to get you home. I meant that. Possibly more than I've ever meant anything. And _damn it_ , Potter, if I have to pawn my soul to the shadows of hell, I'll get you home alive, and I'll make sure you live long enough that I can finally beat you at Quidditch."

Through the numbness, Harry realized that was supposed to be amusing. "Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

"I don't know... Did it work?"

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but he had no words. He was so far beyond coherent thought that he didn't know how to answer that, but if he let himself think or feel, he'd break. He couldn't think, he couldn't feel... but he could _do_.

"We need to move." He scrambled to his feet. "We need to move _now_."

Without pausing, he took off at a stride into the woods in the direction Draco had been running only moments ago. His heart was beating loudly in his ears, and his rapid breath added to the frantic sense of purpose that was suddenly driving him forward. Behind him, he heard Draco's footsteps rustling the grasses.

"Ouch! Wait, Harry, I'm coming!"

Draco caught up with him, walking with an awkward gait, and kept pace for a moment before suddenly stopping. "Harry?"

"What?"

"Are we going the right way?"

Harry's eyes went wide, and he quickly grabbed his wand. " _Point me!_ " He waited for the wand to stop spinning. He suppressed a groan at the results, and pointed to the left. "That way."

Draco didn't even bother to comment. He just nodded in concession and said softly, "Lead the way."

As Harry tore off through the underbrush as fast as he could without actually running, his mind was a whirl of thoughts and emotions. He couldn't think straight, but he didn't need to. All he needed to do was to get home.

*********

Harry lost track of time. The landscape became a blur around him as he led the way through thick patches of trees, through small valleys, around hills, over ridges, and across more of the spidery waterways that criss-crossed the terrain. They were halfway up a small ridge when Draco called out from behind him.

"Harry! Hold up for a minute!"

Harry paused and turned to see Draco struggling a ways behind him, trying to catch up. He was a bit out of breath – they both were, actually – but Harry had so much pure adrenaline running in his veins that he hardly noticed. He shook his head. "Can't stop... not enough time."

Draco finally caught up with him. "Harry, if you don't stop and at _least_ drink some water, you're going to kill yourself before we can get home! Now stop and be reasonable!" He pulled the flask from his hip pocket and tapped it with his wand.

"I don't want to drink anything. My stomach feels funny."

Draco shoved the flask into his hands. "Drink it."

Not wanting to waste extra time arguing, Harry accepted the flask and downed it in one go. He handed it back to Draco, who refilled it and drank some himself a bit more slowly. He paused for a breath and gave Harry a sharp look. "Now you need to eat something."

"Forget it. The last thing I need right now is for you to start acting like a mother hen."

Draco lowered the flask from his mouth and swallowed. "Maybe that's exactly what you need right now," he snapped as he brushed a dribble of water from his chin with the back of his hand. "Do you know what time it is?"

"No. I just know that we're wasting time talking when we could be moving."

"Harry, it has to be mid-afternoon! It feels like we've been walking for at least three hours! If you can call that half-run thing you're doing 'walking'. I could barely keep up with you! And if it hasn't been three hours, we've surely covered that much ground, at the rate you've been going!"

"I wasn't going that fast."

Draco only scowled in reply.

"Why didn't you say something?" Harry asked flatly.

Draco's scowl turned into a disapproving frown. "Considering how badly you reacted to a damn water break, I don't even want to think about how bad you would have been if I'd told you to actually slow down."

Something in Draco's tone of voice left Harry feeling suddenly deflated. With a weary sigh that felt more like a groan, he leaned back heavily against a tree and sagged to the ground. It was only then that he noticed his legs felt shaky and weak from the exertion, and now his head was spinning with the sudden loss of momentum. "I didn't know what else to do," he murmured, feeling a bit dazed. "Just needed to move."

Draco looked down at him sadly, then lowered himself to the ground with a pained grunt. "And do you intend to walk all night?"

"If I have to, yes."

Draco shook his head. "You need to stop sometime."

"Yeah, when I get to Hogwarts."

That earned a deep sigh from Draco. "At least eat something. There are still a few chocolate biscuits left. Come on, just one." He reached out and laid a biscuit softly on Harry's knee.

Tentatively, as if afraid it was going to burn him, Harry picked up the biscuit and took a small nibble. The mere reminder of the existence of food must have been all that his stomach needed, because he was rewarded by a loud hungry growl from his gut.

"See?" Draco pointed at Harry's stomach. "It agrees with me."

The hint of humour was enough to crack the thin shell Harry had been trying to maintain around himself all day. He let out a sound that was half-howl, half-cry. "How can I be eating at a time like this?"

Draco seemed stunned at the sudden outburst. "Harry?"

"Here I am, in the middle of nowhere, with three days to live, and I'm sitting here eating a damn biscuit!"

Draco shifted uncomfortably. "Well, you could be eating a sandwich. You probably should. You'll need the energy."

"That's not the bloody point!"

"Harry," Draco said uncertainly, "would you... I mean... what _is_ the point, then?"

Harry stared at Draco's pained expression, and suddenly, it felt like a dam was breaking, and everything needed to flood out all at once. "It's happening AGAIN! Voldemort is trying to kill me _again_! And this time, I can't fight it; I can't stop it! What am I supposed to do? Just sit here, and wait for time to run out! I can't take this!" He slammed his closed fist backwards against the tree trunk behind him, and felt the rough bark abrade his skin.

A deep shudder ripped through him. "How can I be sitting still, even for a minute, when every minute might make the difference between... between him beating me or not! I can't stop! I need to move, or fight, or anything! But I need to be doing _something_!"

"You're doing everything you can, Harry! But you can't let yourself collapse because you were going like a bat out of hell and didn't bother to eat or drink! You'll kill yourself if you do that!"

Harry stopped cold, on the edge of continuing to rant, eyes locked with Draco's. He was breathing hard, as if he'd been running again. His voice was thin as he spoke. "Better to kill myself than let Voldemort do it."

Draco shrank back a bit. "Don't talk like that, Harry."

"WHY NOT?" Harry blurted out, feeling a bit hysterical. "Why the bloody hell not?"

He scrambled to his feet and began pacing frantically. "I will _not_ let him have me, Draco! He's taken too much from me, but he's not going to take _me_. And I'm not going to go down without a fight!"

"I never suggested that."

"Then what would you suggest I do? If you're the fucking expert, then tell me what the hell should I do?"

"Harry, listen, you're working yourself into a frenzy!"

"TOO LATE! Ha! It's too late. It's always _too fucking late_!"

"We have three days," Draco said, his voice thick with emotion tangled with attempted rationality. "A lot can happen in three days!"

"Like what?" Harry bit out darkly.

Draco began twisting the cuff of his sleeve between his fingers as he spoke, betraying his nervousness. Harry couldn't care less if Draco was nervous. "Well," Draco began, "we could get home, and Snape might already have something ready for you –"

"That's _if_ we get home, Draco! And you already said there's no countercurse, so chances are that Snape. Has. Nothing."

"Snape is the best Potions Master in Britain! If anyone can –"

"Snape hates me as much as he hated my father, and even if he could help me, he'd probably be just as happy to pretend he can't anyway!" Harry squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. He could feel his emotions rise to a hot, fevered pitch, but he fought to keep it under control. The one man who would likely be the most capable of saving him probably didn't personally give a damn if Harry lived or died. _How convenient for Snape, and how disgustingly ironic for me. I'm on my own again. I'm always on my own._ His seething inner monologue was interrupted by Draco's voice.

"Maybe something will stop You-Know-Who, Harry. He might –"

Harry could almost feel something inside him snap. He raised his foot and brought it down with a heavy _thud_ on a small flower. "I'm the only one who can stop _Voldemort_ , or so they tell me. You know what? You want to know something? I should be fighting him, instead of running from him! Ha! Maybe I can stop him myself! That's it! We'll sneak into his fortress, and I'll suffocate him with a pillow! Or maybe I can challenge him to an arm-wrestling match! Two out of three, winner takes all. Oh yeah, that's sure to work! Because it'll be so bloody easy to stop him!"

"Now that's just the stupid sort of thing I would expect a Gryffindor to say!" Draco bit out, trying not to be verbally overrun. "I think I could actually picture you trying an asinine stunt like that! Come on, Harry! Be reasonable!"

Harry stopped cold. "You want 'reasonable'? Fine." Without hesitation, he reached up to his neck, and pulled the Mislocator out of his shirt by the cord. "Maybe I should just let him have me," he whispered harshly. "Give you back the Mislocator, and tell you to run. And then I can fight him. I might win. He can't kill me if I kill him first." He started pacing again.

Draco's eyes went wide. "Wait, that's not what I meant! I –"

"Why not?" Harry's voice was almost deadly calm. "I could kill him. I might win. I've won before."

"Harry, listen –"

"No! You listen! It's supposed to be either him or me, right? It's always gotta be me. I can't ever get a fucking break. Maybe if I'm dead, I'll get a chance to rest. Heh. It should have happened long ago. Fuck, the past fifteen years have all been borrowed time, so why not? _WHY NOT_? I'll go out with a bang! It ought to be a hoot!"

"You're talking crazy!"

Harry paused just long enough to shoot a glare at Draco. "No, Draco, I'm talking perfectly sane; it's everything around me that's going crazy. But that's nothing new. I should be used to this by now, right? A different near-death experience every year. This is just the next heart-stopping episode in the adventure of my life."

"Will you just stop for a minute and –"

"Don't you understand? I've nearly died every fucking year since I was eleven years old, Draco! And now it's happening again! My first year, it was Voldemort himself. And my second year, that swordfight with the basilisk. Third year, it was Dementors. Nothing quite like having your soul almost sucked out, right?"

"Harry –"

"Oh, and this is even better... fourth year, I duelled with Voldemort. A real duel! He used _Avada Kedavra_! The only reason it didn't kill me was because we have brother wands! But I got to watch him kill Cedric. Oh yeah, _that_ was wonderful. And fifth year... at the Ministry... it was him, and the Death Eaters..."

He paused in front of an oak tree, raised his fist like a hammer, and pounded his fist into the trunk. "Every time, it could have been prevented, but someone had to lie to me, every _fucking_ time!" He struck the tree again and growled angrily when the tree didn't flinch. "People tell me they're trying to protect me, and they end up almost killing me! Well, maybe this time it'll happen!"

Harry spun around and began pacing again, but as he strode by his seated companion, Draco caught the edge of his shirt, pulled him to a halt, and spun him around. "SIT!"

Caught off guard by Draco's direct order, Harry felt like someone had flipped an off-switch on him. He let his legs collapse beneath him, and flopped down awkwardly. "Er...?"

Draco fixed him with a pointed stare. "We are _not_ going to let him get you. And you are _not_ going to kill yourself... which includes suicidal behaviour like taking off that Mislocator. And _put that thing back on_!"

Harry fumbled to obey, and quickly tucked the strange device back into his shirt.

Draco nodded approvingly. "That's much better." His expression seemed calm and in control, but his posture was hunched over, small and scared.

It only took Harry an instant to figure out that Draco's expression was just a mask; his posture belied the truth. Inside, Harry could feel his own emotions shift again; this time, they went from frenzied dread to cold fear. His stomach felt sick. "But... it's not better, is it?"

Draco's mask crumbled for an instant, but he quickly restored it. "It will be. It will be fine."

Harry shook his head, trying to reconcile his uncertainty with Draco's attempted reassurance. Finally, his most ominous worry forced its way into words. "Draco... what if we don't make it back?"

"We will."

"WHAT IF WE DON'T?" Harry grabbed a fistful of grass in each hand and ripped them up by the roots. "Do we have any plans? Is there anything we can do?"

He looked at Draco, hoping with every fibre of his being that Draco had an answer. Any answer.

Draco looked away and chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "I... thought I had an idea... but it's nothing. I started gathering some stuff... all those plants I kept looking for... but it's not important. It wouldn't work. You're right, we should be moving. Snape will have everything we need back at Hogwarts, and I know we'll get there."

He stood a bit unsteadily – Harry supposed it was because he was tired – and indicated for Harry to stand. "After you," he said with a wave of his hand.

Feeling much more tired than he had before they'd stopped, Harry got to his feet, quickly checked the direction with his wand, and started walking again. He'd only gone a few steps, however, when he heard a pained cry behind him.

"OUCH!"

Harry spun around to see Draco bent over double, grasping his ankle. He was muttering a stream of curses and shaking his head.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" came the sharp reply. "Damned inconvenience is all."

Harry scowled and walked back to Draco, who still wasn't looking up at him. "What did you do to it?"

"I was stupid, that's what." He was testing his weight on it and wincing as he did so.

" _Draco_..." Harry said, trying to put some menace in his voice.

Draco grumbled something under his breath, spared Harry a glance out of the corner of his eye, and looked away again. "Must have been this morning, while I was running. I... stepped in a hole. Think I twisted it."

Harry frowned. "But you've been walking on it all afternoon."

Draco finally glared up at Harry. "Brilliant observation, Galileo! And it's been hurting like hell all afternoon, too!"

"Then... why now?"

Draco looked back down at his ankle again. "Probably stiffened up while we were sitting." He straightened up and slowly eased his weight onto it. "It's fine. Once we get moving, it'll probably loosen up again. We ought to get moving. Just... maybe not quite so fast this time."

Harry nodded uneasily, but turned to walk away again. An instant later, there was a howl of pain behind him, and the sound of Draco falling to the ground. Harry spun around to find Draco lying on his side, half-curled up. He was holding his ankle with both hands, eyes squeezed shut as he swore loudly.

Harry was beside him in an instant. "I thought you said it was fine!"

"So I lied!" Draco snarled.

"Let me see it," Harry demanded as he reached for Draco's shoe, but Draco pulled away.

"Don't touch it! Aaaah, fuck fuck fuck!" He gritted his teeth tightly, shook his head a few times, and took a slow, laboured breath. "I think I tore something."

Harry's face fell. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Do I look like I'm kidding!"

Before Draco could protest, Harry reached for Draco's ankle. Draco twisted out of his reach. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Helping you, I think!" Harry snapped back at him. "But I'm not sure – I didn't get far enough into the process to know!"

"I said don't touch it! It hurts."

Harry only hesitated for a split second before he made up his mind, set his jaw, and gave Draco his best glare. "Too bad."

Despite Draco's protests, he quickly and carefully untied Draco's shoe and eased it off his foot. As he did, however, his hand brushed over Draco's ankle. The feel of it made him pull his hand back in shock. It couldn't be _that_ badly swollen, could it? When Harry finally pulled back the sock, he almost wished he hadn't. Draco's ankle seemed at least twice its normal size, and was deeply coloured with nauseating shades of blue and purple.

"Oh, Jesus," Harry said to himself.

"Who?" came Draco's voice.

Harry just shook his head and continued to stare at the offending joint. "Doesn't matter," he said absently. "I don't think even he can help us right now."

"What's it look like?" Draco sat up, with some struggle. When he caught sight of his ankle, his eyes widened and he flopped backwards again. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Please don't," Harry said as he ran his hand lightly along the worst part of the swelling, feeling for damage. He might not be a doctor or Mediwizard, but it was pretty obvious that Draco's ankle was a mess. "What healing charms do you know for ankles? Or sprains? Or whatever this is?"

Draco let out an irritated groan. "Nothing so specific. Weren't you listening when I told you what I know? Stuff for bruises, scrapes, and other minor injuries. First aid. Oh, and I learned a wonderful charm during my second year for curing headaches... I seemed to get a lot of those with you around."

"You know, you're not doing much to endear yourself to me right now," Harry said flatly. "Especially as I was _trying_ to help you."

Draco propped himself halfway up on his elbows so he could glare at Harry directly. "Well, I'm sorry! Having pain shooting up my leg doesn't exactly put me in the mood to be congenial!"

Harry met the glare and leaned forward menacingly. "And having three days to live doesn't exactly thrill me either, in case you'd forgotten that!"

Draco opened his mouth, looking for all the world like he was about to shoot off a comeback, but just as quickly, he clamped his mouth shut. He took a short, huffy breath and looked at Harry through hooded eyes. He seemed almost sullen. "Okay, okay. We're both edgy, and we've both got fair reasons for that. But as I was saying, no, I don't know any specific charms for this. Just basic healing spells and first aid. I'm not a bloody Mediwizard."

He paused for a moment, and his expression changed. He looked almost bashful. "Actually... I was thinking... perhaps... you could try that healing thing you did a few days ago. You know... the one you used on my hands."

That caught Harry off-guard. He hadn't even thought of that. In an instant, his thoughts were miles away, back in their tent by the river. It had only been a few short days ago, but it was somehow so far removed from where they were now that it seemed incomprehensible. Even the warm tingling of the magic between their hands seemed to be a little more like a hallucination than an actual memory. He wasn't even sure how he'd done it; it had just _felt_ right at the time. Now, it seemed there was no way he could possibly manage it. But Draco was looking at him, face set stoically, eyes begging.

"I... I don't know if I can do it," Harry said uncertainly.

"Well, of course you can," Draco said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as much as Harry. "You did it once without really even trying, remember? Heh, only Harry Potter would make wandless magic seem easy."

The use of his full name was like a slap in the face. The context was even more infuriating. Harry sat back away from Draco, feeling his cheeks and ears start to burn with anger. "Now you just stop right there! I don't know where people get this idea that I have all sorts of special abilities, because I _don't_! They expect me to perform miracles because I'm Harry-bloody-save-the-world-Potter. My name doesn't give me any privileges, unless you count being on a first-name basis with Voldemort a privilege! And in case you're wondering, his name is Tom! And I may have healed your hands, but you fixed my whole body. So why can't you do it?"

Draco stared up at Harry, his lips pressed together pensively, eyes a bit glassy. He looked smaller somehow. He sat like that for a moment before looking down and pulling out his wand. From his awkward angle, he aimed a few basic healing charms at the centre of the injury. The deep bruising faded a little bit, and the swelling decreased but didn't go away. Draco repeated the charms, but his efforts didn't seem to make any more progress.

Harry fidgeted, caught between guilt over his outburst and general impatience. "Why don't you try that wandless healing thing again yourself?" he asked again, trying to sound more reasonable this time.

For a moment, Draco continued to pay no attention to Harry as he worked on his own ankle. After a few more unsuccessful charms, he finally looked up. It was only then that Harry actually noticed the effect the injury was having on Draco. His normally pale complexion was a bit off, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead that Harry suspected didn't have anything to do with their earlier exertion. In Draco's hand, his wand was shaking.

Harry bit his tongue as the guilt began congealing in his stomach. Perhaps he shouldn't have been quite so callous. "You okay?"

Draco ignored the question. "Do you know anything about wandless magic, Potter?" His voice was thin. "Well? Do you?"

Harry felt extremely embarrassed to admit it, but all he could do was shake his head.

Draco acknowledged that with a slight nod, and continued. "It takes a lot of energy, and usually a strong emotion. Panic, fury, passion, rage... all that sort of stuff. Most of the times I've seen it done, it was unintentional, and resulted in a lot of broken glass. Right now, I'm exhausted and, although I hate to admit it, maybe a bit upset. I wouldn't be able to, no matter how hard I tried... which is why I asked you."

"I... I..." Harry stared at Draco, not sure what to say next. The pain was audible in Draco's voice, visible in the lines of tension in his shoulders. "I'll try."

Draco gave a barely discernible nod. "That's all I'm asking. Because believe it or not, I want to get back as much as you do, and this will only hold up both of us... that is... if I'd be worth waiting for."

Harry's mouth fell open in exasperation. "You... that... that's not fair!"

Draco quickly looked away, his face fixed in an odd expression of impatience and embarrassment, tempered with a touch of irritation. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Didn't mean it like that."

Harry sighed agitatedly and shifted his position so that he could access Draco's ankle more easily, but he didn't reach out with his hands yet. For a long moment, he sat, studying Draco's face.

Draco's brow wrinkled together in confusion. "What?"

Harry shook his head to himself. Yes, he wanted – needed – to get home, at any cost, but he never would have considered leaving Draco behind. It wasn't the sort of thing that ever would have crossed his mind without prompting, but now that the idea had been planted, Harry found himself balking at the notion.

Sure, Draco had got him into this mess in the first place, but they were going to get out of the mess together, right? Besides, if he left Draco behind, Voldemort would certainly get him, and Harry couldn't imagine doing that to anyone – and certainly not to Draco. The only solution was for them both to get back. Somehow, the idea of it ending any other way was almost physically painful. It was too much to consider right now. Harry blinked a couple of times to clear his thoughts, then refocused his attention on Draco's ankle. "Nothing important," he said offhandedly.

Draco said nothing.

Feeling just a bit foolish, Harry positioned his hands above the ankle, palms aimed towards the worst of the bruising. Nothing happened, not that he had expected anything without some sort of effort. He took a slow breath and imagined the odd light beginning to glow beneath his palms, trying to will it into existence, but it didn't appear. He tried to remember the sensation of magic tingling beneath his hands, the soft glow, but he couldn't quite grasp it. He tried again. Still nothing.

Now he was starting to panic. Without question, he needed to do this, and they needed to get home, but for some reason he just couldn't make the mental connection between what he'd done that night by the river and what he was trying to do now. His hands were just hands, not strange magical conduits, and he was no healer. And even if he could just vaguely remember _what_ he'd done, he certainly couldn't remember how he'd done it. With one last desperate push, he tried to force the magic through his hands.

"OUCH!" Draco jerked his ankle away. "What the hell was that?"

Harry looked down at the upturned palms of his hands as if seeing them for the first time. "I don't have a fucking clue." Instead of merely foolish, now he felt stupid as well. He looked back up at Draco, not wanting to see the look on his companion's face.

Draco didn't seem angry, but he didn't appear pleased, either. He hunched over and leaned his forehead on his knuckles. "Not your fault."

"And just whose fault is it?" Harry bit out. "I've done it before, and you did it too, and I should be able to do it again! I must be incompetent or something. I don't know why it didn't work!"

Draco glanced up over his loosely curled hand. "You couldn't do it because you weren't focused on the right thing."

"I was!" Harry protested. "I was focusing on healing you! I have to, because we have to get home, because if we don't, I'll die, and you might get caught, and I just couldn't let that happen!"

A melancholy smile curled the corners of Draco's lips. "I rest my case."

Harry opened his mouth to argue again when the meaning of Draco's words hit him. "Oh."

"It's not your fault, Harry."

Harry shook his head rapidly. "I can fix it though! Give me a moment, and I'll try it again." He rubbed his hands together, imagining he could feel the crackle of magic between his palms, even though he knew there was nothing there but sweat and nerves. He started to reach for Draco's ankle again, but Draco grabbed his hands.

"It's not going to work, Harry."

"Yes, it will." _This is stupid! Draco can't honestly expect me to give up, can he_? He tried to pull his hands from Draco's grasp, but Draco was maintaining a very firm grip on him. "Draco, you have to let me try again."

"It's not going to work."

"You already said that! And I refuse to believe you."

"You're stubborn." There was a hint of amusement.

"It's a fine Leo trait," Harry growled.

"Actually, no, that's more Taurus," Draco said with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "I always heard you were complete crap in Divination."

"Whatever."

Draco gave another strained smile. He almost looked as though he was about to be ill. "You know it's not going to work, Harry. Some things you just have to accept." He almost seemed to be talking more to himself than to Harry.

"And what am I supposed to do? Give up?" Before Draco could say another word, Harry jumped to his feet. "Give me your hand."

"What? Why?"

"No time to argue! Just come on!" Harry held out his hand, and the instant Draco took it, Harry pulled him sharply to his feet. Draco gave a little cry of surprise and teetered unsteadily on one foot for a second before Harry looped one of his arms over his shoulders.

Draco shot him a look of sheer incredulity. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"No joke. I'll carry you the whole way back if I have to."

"Potter, you're crazy!"

"Oh good, you noticed!"

"This is not going to work."

"I think I'm hearing an echo. And besides, I already said I wasn't going to accept that. When the hell did you become such a fatalist? Are you trying to make yourself give up before we even try?"

Harry could feel Draco stiffen beside him. "Are you sure this is the only option?"

Harry tipped his head thoughtfully. "Well, I could always stun you, levitate you to Hogwarts, and then Enervate you when we arrive."

Draco's expression darkened. "You wouldn't."

"Unless you want to test that theory, I'd say lean your weight on me, and let's get going."

Draco seemed to consider this for a moment. "You know, it probably doesn't need to be said, but I have the strangest sense of déjà vu, except this time..."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Harry replied, taking a second to recall his hazy memories from the evening they escaped. He sighed softly. "Come on. Let's go."

*********

An hour later, Harry was out of breath, sweating profusely, and felt like the victim of a particularly nasty Jelly-Legs Jinx. From what he could tell, Draco wasn't doing much better. And to make matters worse, they had barely made it over the crest of the hill they'd been climbing when they'd stopped.

"Potter, we can't keep this up," Draco huffed out beside him.

"Not going... to stop now."

"Potter – Harry, this isn't working."

"When your cunning... Slytherin brain... comes up with a better... idea... you let me know!"

Harry refused to look to the side as he kept planting one foot in front of the other, dragging Draco along. Draco's ungainly hop-step was causing a nasty ache in his lower back, and several times, Harry had been tempted to cast a weight-reduction charm on Draco, but hadn't wanted to cause a further argument. Ginny Weasley had once told him that casting a weight-reduction charm on a girl was considered a tremendous insult, and for some unknown reason, Harry felt the same thing might apply to Draco. Although if Draco continued to tell him that his approach wasn't working, a good _Silencio_ might be an idea.

"Harry, how long do you intend to keep this up?"

"As long as... I have to!"

"Harry."

"WHAT?"

"Stop."

If anything, the mere suggestion of stopping gave Harry an extra spurt of energy. "NO!"

" _Harry._ " Draco dug his feet into the ground, wincing as he did so, and pulled Harry to a halt. "You need to stop and listen to reason."

Harry turned to look at Draco, whose face was actually pale, not flushed, even though he seemed out of breath. In fact, his breath was shallow, his face was drawn, and even though he was looking _at_ Harry, his eyes seemed somehow far away. His appearance was the only thing that kept Harry from actually yelling.

"Reason? _Reason_? Leaving you behind is absolutely _not_ reasonable! Can you come up with a better plan?"

Draco twisted his lips. "I can try." He lowered himself to the ground with a pained grunt, and began carefully rolling down his sock. "Harry, running like this might not get us back in time, no matter how fast we go. I... I think we need to look at other options."

Harry hesitated, still not comfortable with the idea of wasting another second, but when he saw that Draco's ankle was worse than it had been before the healing charms, he conceded that perhaps they needed a break. Besides, he was exhausted too. He flopped down next to Draco.

"Options... like what?" Harry asked edgily. "What could we possibly do that we haven't already considered?"

"Well, I was thinking... by now, we have to be closer to Hogwarts than to You-Know-Who's fortress. Maybe, if one of us exposed himself, Dumbledore would find that person before You-Know-Who. It's not a sure thing, but it's better than no chance at all. And then that person could lead Dumbledore to the other."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Draco. Somehow, he could just _feel_ that Draco wasn't suggesting that Harry be the one to take the risk. "What's all this 'one person' stuff? Because I'm not so sure I like it."

Draco began wringing his hands together as he spoke. "I... it's like this, Harry. I can't move very fast. So I'll take the chance. If Dumbledore finds me, I can lead him to you. And if You-Know-Who gets to me first... at least I won't be holding you up anymore."

By now, Draco's eyes were strained, red, and seemed to be gathering moisture. He quickly looked away, making a pretence at needing to clear his throat.

Harry couldn't believe he was hearing this. Draco had taken risks in their escape, but this... this was like a mouse stepping into the open in front of a snake, hoping that something would save him before the snake struck. "Are you crazy? That is absolutely _not_ an option! If Voldemort catches you... you're injured! You wouldn't even be able to fight back. I'm not going to let you do that!"

Draco's head snapped back around. His eyes were dry now, but noticeably red. "Use some sense, Potter! If you don't make it back to Hogwarts, you know what's probably going to happen!" He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and when he opened them, he seemed a bit more collected. "Harry, I've been considering this since this morning, and even more strongly since my ankle gave out. I can't think of any other options. Can you?"

Harry couldn't quite believe he was hearing this. He swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. "What ever happened to the self-serving Slytherin I knew back at Hogwarts?"

Draco shrugged. The motion looked forced. "I left him back in You-Know-Who's dungeon." He cocked his head. "Don't tell me you miss him."

"If he were here, he wouldn't be making suicidal plans!"

Despite the fact that he already looked tired, something else in Draco's posture seemed to deflate. "I got you into this, and I swore I was going to get you out. Don't make me break that oath."

That caught Harry off-guard. He'd known Draco had been serious, but he hadn't realized how serious his promise had been. "An... an oath?"

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched. "The night of our escape... you had already fallen asleep. Or passed out. I wasn't sure which. It was really cold that night, and you were getting hypothermic – I think you might have been in a mild state of shock. Anyway, I... I was trying to keep you warm, and while I was doing that, I swore an oath. That I'd get you back to Hogwarts, alive and well. 'Whatever it takes.' That's what I said. And I meant it."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He began slowly shaking his head, trying to shake loose some coherent thought. "No... Draco, you can't. Not like this. Too many people have already died because of me, and I'm not going to let it happen to you, too."

"Harry, you're not forcing me." Draco sounded strangely calm. "This is my choice."

There was something in Draco's tone that spoke of a disconcerting immediacy. Harry's head shot up. "You mean to do it _right now_?" When Draco didn't respond immediately, Harry felt a flash of anger. "You _do_ , don't you!"

In an instant, he was in front of Draco, gripping him by the front of his shirt as if to hold him in place, or to hit him. He leaned forward as imposingly as possible, intentionally tipping Draco backwards, off-balance. "You're not going to do it! I won't let you! Dumbledore told me that Sirius made his own choice to go to the Ministry, and he died there, but he never would have gone if it hadn't been for me! And I'm not going to let you do it too! Don't you understand? I can't live with another death on my conscience!"

Draco seemed very small beneath Harry's hands, and his voice was quiet, but firm. "And if You-Know – if Voldemort wins... how many more people are going to die? Starting with you? I'd probably be next on the list anyway."

Startled by the logic in Draco's response, Harry eased up his grip and let Draco sit up properly again. Draco acknowledged it with a nod, then he seemed to remember the topic of conversation, and shuddered. "I had a private audience with V-Voldemort... I saw what he was like. In case you didn't realize, that's why I left! He's as happy to kill his supporters as his enemies if they aren't his perfect pawns. It's gone beyond the Pureblood thing. I used to think that because I was on his side, if he won... I'd have everything. I'd be comfortable, powerful, wealthy, recognized for my superiority... and I didn't care what would happen to anyone else. It wouldn't affect me. Now I'm on the other side of that line, and as much as I'd like to, I can't ignore it anymore!"

"Draco –"

"Listen, I may not like Dumbledore, or any of his goody-goodies, and I'm still not quite ready to hug a Mu – Muggle-born, but..." He paused and took a deep breath. "... if they're anything like you, they're a far cry better than Vol- Voldemort."

Draco's eyes met Harry's, as if he could force Harry to feel his sincerity by will alone. "My life was forfeit the instant I unlocked your cell. Everything I have right now... this is all extra. You may have a clock running out, but I'm already living on borrowed time, Harry. And if I die, I want it to count for something, even if the effort fails."

"No..."

Draco gave a familiar sad smile, and suddenly Harry realized how many times he'd seen that expression so far that afternoon. "I wouldn't trade these past few days for anything. I just wanted you to know that."

Harry sensed a 'goodbye' in Draco's words. He shook his head, even as his voice came out in a thick croak. "No. Not right now."

"It won't do us any good to wait, Harry. You know that."

"NO! We're going to think of something! We just need to think logically."

"The logical thing right now would be for you to stand up, turn around, and start walking away. Running might be better."

"I will not!"

"Oh, so you're just going to sit here for the next three days, waiting for time to run out?"

"I never said we had to do that either! But there's got to be another way. Are you sure you can't Apparate?"

Draco laughed lightly, despite the lines of stress in his posture. "Didn't we already cover this, Harry? Splinching incident the first time I tried? I refused to try it again. I couldn't. I had no idea what I was doing. To be honest, the idea positively scares the daylights out of me. Otherwise, I might have tried it anyway. I was going to take some... remedial training at Hogwarts."

Harry tried to force a smile. "You never did tell me what part of yourself you left behind, you know."

"Stop trying to change the topic."

The smile disappeared instantly, and Harry pounded his hand into the ground. "I'm trying to think!" He looked back over his shoulder. "I think there's a stream down at the base of this hill. If we can get down there, you ought to be able to soak your ankle in the river. The water should be cold enough to help with the pain and swelling. And I think I saw a lake just a little further along."

"You're stalling."

"Yes, I am." He stood and offered his hand to Draco again. "And you're going to go along with it."

Draco didn't argue as he took Harry's hand, but he didn't seem pleased with the situation.

*********

Draco's toes were slowly going numb in the cold, flowing water, but he didn't mind so much, because so was his ankle. He had forced himself to separate emotion from logic, and his emotions were as numb as his toes. Distantly, he knew that if he were to let himself feel, he'd probably lose his mind, and seeing as Harry appeared to be teetering on the edge, it wouldn't do for both of them to panic. It seemed they'd been taking turns being the sane one, and now it was Draco's turn again.

"Are you sure we can't transfigure a broomstick?" Harry asked again as he picked intently at a lonely tuft of grass poking out from between two rocks.

"For the third time, no. Not one that would work." Draco sighed and kicked at the water with his uninjured foot. "There's a reason brooms are so expensive. The flying charms are a complex trade secret of broom manufacturers. If we could transfigure working broomsticks, everybody would have their own Firebolt."

"Right, right," Harry said distractedly. He selected a pebble from the barren, rocky ground and threw it into the stream. "Magic carpet?"

"Harry..."

"Okay, I get it." He flopped onto his back and began rhythmically thudding his left foot on the ground. "At the very least, I could transfigure you a set of crutches. It won't be quite as fast as regular walking, but we could make it."

"I'd still be holding you up. Are you willing to take that risk?"

Harry sat up in a flash. "Bloody Merlin's Beard, _yes_ , Draco! The only risk I'm not willing to take is to expose you to Voldemort."

"Harry, eventually, we have to make a decision."

"I know that! And I'd like to make a decision that both of us can live with. In the literal sense of the word."

"This is getting repetitive."

"Well, I'm sorry I'm boring you!" Harry snapped. "Maybe I could add a song and dance act, if that would help."

Draco sighed and pulled his foot out of the water. It felt better, but it was still swollen. "What I mean is that we're not getting anywhere. We've discussed all the same ideas twice over."

"Is there a reason you're determined to take the most suicidal option possible?" Harry asked harshly.

Draco groaned inwardly. Harry wasn't making this any easier, and in the end, it would still have to be done. Besides, if he ended up being caught by the Dark Lord, there were other things he just might be able to do. Such as possibly preserving some other remnant of the Malfoy bloodline. But he'd worry about that bridge when it was time to cross it. For now, he was willing to take that risk. Outwardly, he sighed. "I'm just trying to make sense here! This isn't about Gryffindor nobility. This is about making the most sensible choice possible, and damn it, Harry, we have to make a choice!"

His breath was rapid and a bit painful in his chest, and he could feel the fear and frustration driving him. He'd made up his mind, and now they just had to go through with it. There was no other way.

"List them again." Harry's voice was cold and direct.

"What?"

"Just... humour me. List our options again."

Draco shook his head to himself. This was pointless. Completely and utterly pointless. But if it made things easier on Harry, he could oblige with this one last comfort. Even if it was pointless.

Draco sighed and rested his cheek on one loosely curled fist, gesturing with his other hand as he spoke. "We could keep walking, and hope to get to Hogwarts in time. On one hand, Snape and Dumbledore are our best bet, but on the other hand, we might get there too late anyway. I could expose myself –"

"Which is out of the question," Harry cut him off without missing a beat.

Draco scowled and continued. "Which might lead me to Dumbledore, or to You-Know-Who. At the very least, you could travel faster."

"Forget it. We're not splitting up." Harry snorted. "Hero boy."

Draco raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Oh, wonderful. This is proof that I've spent far too much time with you. You're contagious."

Harry slapped his forehead and leaned heavily into his open palm. He didn't move for a moment, and Draco found himself staring absently at the back of Harry's hand which was covering his face, and at the faded script carved into the skin there. When Harry finally spoke, his voice was dry and raspy. "I'll say it just one more time," he said, exasperation clinging to each word. "I'm not leaving you behind. I don't care what the risks are. I won't leave you."

"Why, Harry," Draco said neutrally, "I didn't know you cared."

Harry dropped his hand away from his face and fixed Draco with an intense stare. "I do," he said, without hesitation. Just as quickly, his eyes went wide, and he looked away. "Listen," he mumbled, "two weeks shouldn't be enough to change everything, but these past two weeks haven't exactly been normal. As far as I'm concerned, you're my friend. We've come this far together, and I'm not leaving you behind. So stop playing the damned martyr, and we'll get through this together."

Draco slowly leaned backwards, not sure how to respond to that. Finally, he chose the only way he knew. Sarcasm. "I'll stop playing the martyr when you do the same. Damn, you _are_ contagious."

For a moment, Draco was sure Harry would snap at him with some scathing remark, but then Harry smiled. It was a tired sort of smile, tainted by the rough lines of tension around Harry's eyes, but it was honest.

Draco hesitantly returned the gesture, and finally relaxed a bit. So maybe there was no arguing with Harry, but they still had a decision to make. He was so tired, and he couldn't think anymore. At this point, there were no good options, and Draco just wished the waiting was over. "Harry, I know you want some noble, save-the-world solution, but really, we're running out of time, and we have to do something. So unless you –"

"I was thinking..." Harry interrupted. His voice was distant, and he was staring off over Draco's shoulder. "You said you'd had an idea... to counteract the curse... or potion... or whatever the hell it is. What was your idea?"

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "That's just it... I didn't really have an idea. I'd started gathering the ingredients for the actual potion... mostly for something to do... to keep my mind off of everything. Avoidance. I know how to brew the actual potion, but what good would that do us? Snape knows how to create potions and antidotes. All I can really do is to follow standard potion directions like a recipe. I couldn't create a new potion."

Harry stared at the ground for a moment before giving Draco an odd, pointed look. "This potion Voldemort is using... does it work like a poison?"

Draco almost gave an automatic response of _no_ , but he stopped himself and considered it. It certainly wasn't a physical poison, which would work by attacking the body, but most magical poisons didn't. They attacked a wizard's magic, and used that to slowly or quickly kill or incapacitate the victim. And sometimes they were even keyed to take effect at specific times or events. So, in a way... "Yes, I suppose it works a bit like a poison."

"I can't believe I didn't think of this sooner," Harry said to himself as the enigmatic expression on his face became even more unreadable. "Draco... what's the basic formula for an antidote? Don't think about this specific poison... just... give the generic way of making an antidote."

"Well," Draco said slowly, his eyes unfocused, "for simple poisons, you have to start with the poison, and then reverse the effects of the poisonous component. This can either be done by counteracting the physical properties of the poison, the magical properties, or by using an opposing force to neutralize the effect." He focused back on Harry. "Why?"

Harry didn't respond, but a grin slowly started spreading across his face.

"You look like the Kneazle who ate the Snidget. What are you saying, Harry?"

Harry shook his head but didn't stop grinning. "How complex is the Soul's Eclipse potion?"

"The procedure isn't easy, but I've seen worse. The ingredients are fairly straightforward, like most of the older potions. There's some variability regarding –"

"What about the poisonous part?" Harry was starting to sound more excited with each word. "I mean, if there's a specific component that acts as the poison, or a combination of ingredients, or something. What is it?"

Draco scratched at the back of his neck as he thought, recalling the descriptive paragraphs of the potion recipe. He'd paid more attention to the actual procedure for brewing it. "Well... that would be –"

Realization struck Draco like a well-hit Bludger – sudden and hard, leaving the lungs painfully devoid of air. He sat back, propping himself up with his hands as he tried to breathe normally, feeling more than a bit light-headed. "Oh, Merlin..."

"What?" Harry asked anxiously. "You have an idea?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but no sound would come out. He was still reeling from the possibilities.

Most of the components in the potion were mere catalysts, facilitating the transition of the actual magic during the eclipse. None of them provided the magic which was the driving force of the curse. There was really only one component that could be considered the actual poison. It was so simple, a third year should have been able to figure it out with minimal prompting. It was plain to see, and all Draco had to do was to reverse it.

He looked up at Harry, surveying Harry's strained yet hopeful features, noting how he was leaning forward, as if sheer enthusiasm and intent were enough to pull an answer from Draco. His eyes were wide, and he suddenly looked so young. Innocent.

As Draco let his revelation sift into some semblance of coherency in the back of his mind, he studied Harry's face carefully. Long the face of a rival, or even an enemy, this was now, undoubtedly, the face of a friend. Someone with whom he'd fought through life and death experiences. The face of someone he trusted. Someone who cared for him. Harry had said so. It had seemed so honest.

Draco glanced down at the back of Harry's hand, where some of the script scars were barely visible under the cuff of his sleeve. Yes, it had to be true. There was no Gryffindor nobility was holding Harry back from merely leaving Draco behind. Harry cared. He really did.

And Draco cared too, on some level. He was sure of it. If his theory was right, that was exactly what it would take. The only question was... did he care enough?

He raised his eyes to meet Harry's intent, questioning gaze.

It would have to be enough.

"I have an idea."

*********

Late afternoon found Harry pacing anxiously around their new campsite. For the past hour, they had travelled slowly along the river, hunting for the ingredients for Draco's plan and looking for a more suitable location from which to stage their counter-offensive. Draco had graciously declined Harry's offer to help him walk, and instead opted to move using a waist-high stick as a cane. Harry had nearly bitten through his tongue to keep himself from saying how eerily the image reminded him of Lucius Malfoy.

In the end, he distracted himself by intensifying his search for ingredients from the list Draco had supplied. The list was fairly short, and although Harry was quite sure they'd be able to find all the ingredients in time, the only thing they had managed to find at the moment was mugwort, which had caused Draco to curse under his breath for five minutes about "that bloody snake". By the time they arrived at the shore of the lake Harry had seen from the hill, Draco's ankle was too sore to go any further.

While Harry set up the camp, Draco had plopped down with his back against an oak trunk, furiously scribbling notes on a piece of parchment Harry had transfigured for him. Several times, Harry had tried to ask what he was writing, and he'd been summarily dismissed each time. He finally conceded that Draco would only explain when he was good and ready, but that didn't make it any easier to wait. So once the campsite was set up, Harry did the only thing he could do to keep from going crazy. He paced.

"You're going to drive me crazy if you keep that up." Draco's voice cut the still air.

Harry glanced back over his shoulder. It appeared that Draco hadn't even twitched to look up – he was still writing intently. "Well, I'd go for a walk around the lake, but I don't think that would be a good decision."

Without looking up, Draco tipped his head. "Touché." He continued writing.

Instead of pacing again, Harry began to watch Draco. If nothing else, Draco was absolutely intent on whatever he was writing. His eyebrows were deeply furrowed, and he barely blinked. The only movement was from his hand, and from his mouth as he alternately chewed his lower lip, pressed his lips into an impossibly thin line, and silently mouthed words as he wrote. It took Harry a second to notice when an actual sound emerged from Draco's mouth, and two more seconds to realize the sound was directed at him.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it wasn't polite to stare? I'd blame the Muggles who raised you – that might account for the lack of manners – but I think you really are just trying to drive me insane." Draco looked up, and absently brushed a stringy strand of hair away from his forehead as he gave a tired smile. "But I've done what I can for now. Have a seat."

Harry felt oddly like he was back in class at Hogwarts as he knelt gingerly in front of Draco. For some reason, instead of asking, he knew that Draco would tell him what he needed to know when he was good and ready. So he waited as Draco stared back at him. He almost felt like he was being assessed, which only added to the strange feeling of being in a classroom, under the scrutiny of one of his professors. He wasn't too surprised when Snape came to mind.

"So," Draco finally began, "this is your last chance to back out."

That wasn't what Harry had expected to hear. "What?"

"I said, this –"

"I heard what you said," Harry said sharply. "And I'm telling you, I've already made up my mind. So you might as well stop asking if I've changed my mind, because I haven't and I'm not going to. Are you going to tell me what the plan is, or do I have to rip that parchment out of your hand and figure it out myself?"

Draco didn't lose his composure, but he did tuck the parchment a bit closer to his chest. "I know what you told me, Harry. What _I'm_ telling you is that when you hear the plan, I won't blame you if you decide that you'd rather try something else."

Harry stared at Draco incredulously, projecting as much of that sentiment as possible. Draco must have received the message, because he replied with a grim nod before he glanced down at his paper.

"You need to know just how uncertain this really is," Draco said softly. "There's no guarantee that any of this will work. I'm pretty good at spell analysis – I've always liked theoretical stuff; it's all study with no effort – but I'm only a student with a knack for the topic, not an expert. So...what I've basically done is analyzed the original potion, and I've devised a method that might reverse its effects."

"I already know that!" Harry felt his impatience pushing through again. "Just tell me what –"

Draco stopped him by holding up his hand. "As I was trying to say, there were a couple of ways to approach this problem. Unfortunately, we can't take the most obvious solution, which would be to reverse the procedure directly on You-Know-Who. When he... er... The night of... wait a moment. Let me explain how the potion actually works first. That might help."

Harry barely managed to stop himself from snorting in annoyance. He gave a stiff nod. _Just get on with it._

Draco seemed deep enough in thought that he hardly noticed the edginess behind the gesture. When he began to speak, he sounded vaguely like a professor, and Harry felt some of his agitation fade as he slipped into his student's mindset.

"You can think of this potion as a key that opens a conduit between the aggressor and the victim. It's a one-way channel through which the victim's magic and life-force travel. For magic that strong, the potion requires a transitional trigger, which is why it was created to work with the eclipse. So, when the eclipse starts –"

"Yeah, I already got this part."

Draco's eyes refocused on Harry's. "Harry, please, I'm trying here. Just follow me for a minute, okay?"

The intensity of Draco's gaze silenced Harry completely. Draco continued.

"What I'm saying is that if we had a sample of Voldemort's blood, we could simply recreate the potion, and you could take it yourself. In effect, that would create a two-way conduit, through which you would both be 'pulling' on the other." He swallowed, as if considering his next words carefully. "Effectively, the strongest wizard would 'win', and the weaker one would die. It would be a pure magical duel, without even wands to get in the way."

"Tug-of-war."

"What?"

Harry allowed himself a small smile. "Muggle game. You get a rope, and two teams. Each team takes an end of the rope, and they pull until one team gets pulled over a line... or into a mud pit. Stronger team wins."

Draco sniffed as he considered the description. "Crude, but I guess the analogy works."

Harry grinned again, briefly imagining the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams playing tug of war. Just as quickly, he dismissed the thought when he remembered that most of the Slytherin players were built like half-trolls.

He shook off the thought, and it was then that he noticed Draco was regarding him with an odd expression. "What?"

"Harry, who would you say hates whom more... you or Vol-Voldemort?"

Harry blinked at the unexpected question. "I... well, I'm not sure. I mean, we hate each other. Originally, I don't think he hated me any more than anyone else. At least, not any more than any other half-blood. I was just a target because of that stupid prophecy. Now he's furious at me, and it's personal. I keep beating him, so he's got a score to settle. Like a grudge match." He paused for a moment and felt his expression turn dark. "As for me... he killed my parents. You know the rest."

"Hmm," was all Draco said with an almost imperceptible nod.

Harry frowned as he realized they were digressing from the topic at hand. "But we don't have Voldemort's blood, so why even worry about that? I don't need to know what we're _not_ going to do! I need to know what we _are_ going to do!"

Draco shot a look at Harry that reminded him of Snape far more than he cared to consider. "I needed to explain that so you could understand the concept we're working with. We can't have you play a proper game of pull-of-war –"

"Tug-of-war."

"Whatever. _Tug_ -of-war with Voldemort. We don't have the tools. But... let's use your analogy again. You have your two teams, and your rope. What happens when only one team is allowed to pull?"

"Well, that's stupid. The team who – oh. Well, then it's obvious that the pulling team is going to win, which brings us back to our original problem, so what's your bloody idea?"

Draco gave a deep sigh and rubbed his temples. " _You_ can't pull, but what if we can anchor you in place so that you can't be pulled? Or have someone pulling for you?"

"Er... what?"

Without a word, Draco turned the parchment towards Harry and held it out. Harry took it.

The parchment was covered with neatly drawn symbols and quickly scribbled notes that still looked infuriatingly elegant; a far cry, Harry noted with some annoyance, from his own haphazard script. In the upper-left corner was a list of ingredients. Below that, step-by-step instructions were scrawled along the left margin. In the upper right corner was a diagram of the phasing moon and some runes that Harry knew Hermione would recognize. Along the bottom, Draco had written some shorthand notes about each ingredient. However, it was the image in the centre that Harry knew Draco had intended for him to see.

Draco had drawn out a spell-diagram. Before this year, Harry had only seen them a few times in his Transfiguration and Charms texts. When he'd peeked through his sixth-year texts, he'd noticed a lot of them in NEWT-level Charms. All he knew was that beyond the basic symbols, the diagrams made no sense whatsoever. However, with Draco's description, he understood some of this one.

Half of the diagram was drawn in black ink. Spell target – that was him. The symbol for the spell caster was obviously Voldemort. The direction of power was charted oddly; control went from Voldemort to him, but power flowed from him to Voldemort. Harry closed his eyes as a deep shiver worked its way up his spine at the thought. Some other things were sketched around the main framework, but they seemed like the fine details, and not quite so important. Besides, Harry didn't understand any of them, so he focused on the next part of the diagram... the portions drawn in red.

In red was another spell caster. However, the lines of power and control between that symbol and the target were drawn with an odd loop at each end, and Harry had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Even more strangely, he couldn't decipher the direction of the power-flow. Still, if he were to just go on his initial impression of the picture, it looked like the secondary caster, which he assumed to be Draco, was anchoring the target in place.

Finally, hoping he didn't sound as immensely stupid as he felt, he looked up from the picture. "You mean to act as a magical anchor for me, don't you?"

He felt a bit relieved when Draco nodded. _At least I didn't look completely ignorant._ Then he realized the implications of what he'd just said. "Wait a minute. You... you're going to... _how_ does that work?"

For the first time since he'd begun talking, Draco looked apprehensive. "See, this is why I want you to know that you can still back out – and don't give me that look. The problem is that I really _don't_ know if it will work, because I'm not one-hundred percent sure _how_ it might work." He sighed. "I'm doing this with a bit of logic combined with a bit of intuition. I've identified the one component of the spell that acts as the 'poison' to actively draw power from you to Voldemort, and I think I've found its magical opposite. If... if I were to create this version of the potion –" He pointed at his notes in the left margin of the parchment. "– using your blood, and... and consume it myself... in theory, instead of drawing power from you, I'd help you anchor your own power in place. Acting as a reinforcement. And... Voldemort would have to be stronger than both of us in order to win."

Draco swallowed nervously, never taking his eyes off Harry. "So, that's my brilliant idea. I've sketched it out about five times, and the theory is sound. But... it's just a theory. Untested. And... and if you don't trust it, or if you want to back out... I wouldn't blame you. Not at all."

Harry sat perfectly still, fully aware of the fact that he was hardly breathing, staring at the parchment in his hands. Here it was, laid out in front of him, and he needed to decide.

It was a theory and a shot in the dark. It was a magical diagram he didn't understand. It was a chance that everything would turn out okay, and that once again, he'd outfox Voldemort with a shred of skill, some help from a friend, and a good deal of sheer dumb luck.

Or it might kill him anyway.

He stood, wincing as his knees popped, and handed the parchment back to Draco, who accepted it with a questioning expression.

Harry shook his head, and spoke in a harsh whisper. "I need to think about this." He turned to walk away, but Draco's voice stopped him.

"Harry?"

He looked back. Draco was holding out the parchment towards him. "Take it with you."

He accepted it without a word, or even a nod, turned away again, and walked off towards the shore of the lake. His body felt numb as he stumbled the short distance through the lengthening shadows and finally flopped down on a rock a few feet from the water. He was so tired, and every muscle and bone in his body ached with fatigue. His head was aching miserably, and this time, it had nothing to do with his scar, yet everything to do with Voldemort.

He had intended to try to think clearly through the problem, Draco's proposed solution, and the measly other options available to him. Instead, he discovered that his mind was as tired as his body, and coherent thought seemed to escape him. After a few minutes of trying to concentrate through his headache, he sighed and let it all run away from him. Draco was right – sometimes, you have to rest before you completely collapse. He'd catch up with his thoughts again after he rested. The nebulous images and words drifted through his mind unchecked as he watched the shadows stretch into infinity as the sun dipped behind the far hills.

*********

Draco watched Harry walk away on unsteady legs and drop down heavily on a rock near the lake shore. He looked so tired, and it was no surprise. In one day, he'd been slammed with one hell of a news flash, and then jerked back and forth enough to make anyone exhausted. He was actually coping fairly well for a person who'd just been told he was facing his own death in three days.

 _Two days,_ Draco reminded himself. _Just two._

It was a lot to swallow, and not a lot of time in which to swallow it. Any lesser man probably wouldn't have been able to handle it at all; Harry was still just a boy by most standards, and a small, skinny one at that, yet he was still on his feet. Barely. He was hunched over, leaning heavily on his knees, and he looked as though the slightest touch might knock him off the rock. The little weight he'd regained during their trek back did nothing to mask the actual frailty of his frame.

 _That's a pretty thin pair of shoulders to look like they're bearing the weight of the world_ , Draco thought sadly. He gave a silent, bitter laugh. _I wonder if mine look the same right now_.

Draco took a slow breath, trying to calm his heart, which had been beating an uncomfortably harsh rhythm all day. He was beyond nervous. He was positively terrified, but he couldn't let Harry know.

_What the hell have I got myself into?_

Three weeks ago, Draco had wanted to see Harry either one of two ways: suffering or dead. Now, he was the only one who could save the Saviour. It was so disgustingly ironic that he felt nauseous at the thought.

 _No, that's the nerves,_ he told himself.

And he knew without a doubt that he was so nervous because, if he was really going to go through with this, he _had_ to succeed. If he tried and failed, he had nothing. He'd already lost his old life. If he lost Harry, he had no chance of beginning a new one. Everyone would blame him – not that they wouldn't already have perfect justification for doing so. Underage or not, he would probably end up in Azkaban. He'd certainly be ostracized from the wizarding world. _Which is fair, I suppose._ And then there was simply the fact that he would lose _Harry_ , which at the moment seemed just as bad. He owed it to Harry. And he owed it to himself to succeed for once.

_Actually, no, I've succeeded once before. And look where it got me._

_Here._

Draco leaned his head back against the tree behind him and looked over his surroundings. The campsite was on a narrow strip of grassy open land between the shoreline and the forest, and the tent was tucked between two trees at the edge of the woods. On the one hand, Draco supposed the scene looked picturesque and peaceful, but after almost two weeks on the run, and in light of the turn things had taken, Draco couldn't enjoy it. Tonight especially, it felt like a two-man refugee camp. Upon a closer look, it looked the part too.

The Invisibility Cloak tent, which was normally completely invisible from the top and sides, showed signs of wear and abuse. Despite cleaning charms, his clothing was dingy and worn. Harry's trousers and jumper had a number of small rips and holes that matched the ones on Draco's clothes that he hadn't bothered to mend. Even without a mirror, Draco was sure his face and hair were in desperate need of a shower, and his abused muscles were begging for a long soak in a hot bath. And on top of that, he could only guess how many days he would need to spend in the hospital wing while Madam Pomfrey put together the pieces of his ankle, all courtesy of "here".

But the most significant thing about "here" was that it was distinctly not "home". In fact, considering how he'd got "here", it was the farthest place possible from home. Home was his mahogany sleigh bed, his personal bathroom, the gardens, and the many rooms, artefacts, tapestries, and mysteries of Malfoy Manor. Home was his mother's aristocratic poise, and his father's imposingly powerful presence. It was where Draco had once had a place, a role, and a future. Home was his father saying, " _I'm proud of you._ "

_I can never go home again._

For the first time since he had run from the Dark Lord's dungeons, it hit him: the fact that he had really left everything behind. Everything. His future, his inheritance, and even his clothes.

And his parents...

Not for the first time since last night's vision, Voldemort's cutting words sliced through his mind.

" _I will watch Malfoy blood spilt on my glorious night..._ "

How could he even know what the Dark Lord had planned for his mother and father? It really might all be just a ploy to get him to return. His mother might be sitting in the parlour at this very minute, snarling his name in disdain, speaking with his Aunt Bella about the son she was glad to disown.

_Or she might be dead._

If that was true, then none of his actions would matter to her anymore... but his father...

What if it wasn't a trick? What if his father's life really was in danger? The man who had meant everything to him for so long, the one person whose life he'd placed above his own, might die, and it would all be Draco's fault. And he might be able to do something to prevent it, but would he? His own words came back to him, mocking him.

_"I may not be too thrilled with You-Know-Who, but that has nothing to do with my father! I deserted the Dark Lord, NOT MY DAD! And he does love me… he was proud of me. He said so. He was so proud of me."_

_He **was** proud_ , Draco thought sullenly. _Not so much to be proud of anymore, is there? And now I may have sentenced him to death. Have I really deserted him? No! But maybe. I don't know!_

Draco shuddered and looked towards the lake shore where Harry's hunched form was silhouetted against the bright colours of the setting sun. He'd been pressing Harry with hard decisions all day, but hadn't bothered to mention one other important decision that had to be made. This one wasn't Harry's choice to make, though. It was Draco's.

Harry, or his father.

In reality, he'd had his own reasons for offering to risk capture by Voldemort. If in his bid to be found by Dumbledore he was captured by Voldemort instead, he could say that he had tried to bring Harry back, but Harry had fought him – a tale for which he could use his swollen nose and ruined ankle as evidence – and Harry had escaped. At the very least, he could offer his worthless life in the place of his father, and the Malfoy name might still carry some honour.

 _Honour? What fucked up definition of honour am I still using? Is that honour, to serve a madman?_ He brushed his fingertips across the raised scar at the base of his neck. _I don't even know anymore. My father thinks it's honourable; he thinks it's right. And my father would never do anything without a damn good reason. But I don't know which side I'm on, or which side I'm not on. I'm not on the Dark Lord's side, or Dumbledore's... but what about my father's? What about Harry's?_

Draco leaned his head into his hands, flinching a little bit as he bumped his nose, which was still rather sore. His head was aching terribly, and he was sure the hit to the nose had nothing to do with it. This was a decision he just couldn't make. He could either save Harry, or save his father. There was no chance of doing both. He had never intended to desert Harry, or to even consider the possibility, but how could he have foreseen this turn of events?

One thing was for certain: when he made his final decision, he couldn't have _any_ reservations about his choice. Second thoughts would only get everyone killed, including him. But second thoughts or no, whether or not the situation had changed, he _had_ made an oath. Well, hadn't he?

Draco raised his head from his hands and looked back over at the darkening silhouette on the shore.

Yes, he was supposed to save Harry. Yes, he was sworn to it. Still, the question remained: could he actually do it? He had never been responsible for anything in his life, and now he was responsible _for_ a life? The bare elements of the task might require more than Draco was capable of giving. In order to save Harry, he'd have to throw his entire focus – even his heart and soul – into the task. He could hold nothing back.

Maybe he could do it.

In three weeks, so much had changed. Harry had become important to him – a friend, closer perhaps than any other he'd had. Still, there was something about Harry that left Draco uneasy, and the harder he thought about it, the more difficult it was for him to identify the source of his unease.

Perhaps it was simply that this was still _Harry Potter_. This was the boy who had been the bane of Draco's existence for five years. Not the sort of thing one could simply forget.

He thought back through five years of arguments, fights, and insults. Five years of classes and Quidditch matches. He remembered staring at the back of Harry's head in Potions class as hard as he could, mentally daring the Boy Who Lived to turn around, just so he could sneer at him. He thought about all the looks of unadulterated loathing they'd shared. He felt a familiar flash of anger as he replayed the image of the back of Harry's Quidditch uniform from each time Harry had beat him to the Snitch. He also remembered seeing Harry's unconscious form falling to the ground on the Quidditch pitch in third year, lying in a twisted heap in a mud puddle; he felt a surge of an unnamed emotion as he recalled how he'd been completely unable to pull his eyes away. And he remembered trying to get Harry to take his hand on that first day of school, and the odd burning sensation that had coursed through him as he was brushed aside.

Sure, that was the obvious source of discomfort in dealing with the boy who had made his life miserable for five years... the boy whose only chance of living was Draco's ability to completely put aside those old emotions.

Or maybe Draco felt uneasy because he already _had_ put them aside.

And maybe he felt uneasy because the outcome meant _so damn much_ to him.

This was a suicide mission. Voldemort would find him and kill him eventually, whether or not Harry lived; Draco was sure of it. The question Draco knew he should be asking himself was _"How do I want to die?"_ To die by intentionally trading himself for his father, or while fighting for Harry?

_Well, when I put it that way..._

No, he was definitely continuing on this suicide mission with Harry for reasons beyond his own ability to understand. He had no idea why, or how, Harry was becoming so important to him. But he was.

And Draco was going to stick with Harry. He hoped.

Unable to focus on his dilemma any longer, Draco turned his attention to a more practical puzzle: the potion. With a sigh, he looked down at the three small piles of ingredients he'd laid out on his handkerchief, which he'd enlarged to serve as a workspace. He'd managed to procure mugwort on the way down towards the camp. _Fucking snake,_ he mentally cursed. The quince seeds had remained safely in his pocket since he'd taken them from the core of Harry's fruit, and he had the five seeds required by the potion. He also still had the Calamus root he'd tucked beside the seeds. Now all he needed were yew twigs, hawthorn thorns, Sorcerer's Violet, and mistletoe. In reality, they should all be quite easy to find. Harry had told him that he'd seen a hawthorn just the other day, and he was sure he could find one again. Sorcerer's Violet could probably be found in some nice open thickets, and mistletoe could be found growing on random trees, although oak or beech-grown mistletoe were preferable. As for the yew twigs... yew didn't grow just anywhere. That would take some searching.

He'd find everything, if that was what he was meant to do. At least, that was what he would keep telling himself. Somehow, some part of him wanted to blindly trust the fates that it would all work out. The necessary ingredients for the potion would be found. The fates would tip the balance of power in their favour at the last minute. And most importantly, Draco would be able to provide a strong enough counter-measure to Voldemort's pure hatred of Harry.

Maybe.

He closed his eyes as his headache flared up. The emotional counter-measure. That was what worried him the most. Unless he was completely single-minded in his commitment, and unless he was truly able to put the pure emotion into the effort, it would all be for nothing. That was if he was even able to brew the potion correctly in the first place.

Draco stared at the pitiful little piles on his handkerchief, and wondered how he could entrust the fate of his friend to those measly bits of plants. They looked like nothing. Bits of plants that could be brushed away, or lost so easily. Biting his lower lip, Draco carefully folded them back into his handkerchief and tucked it into his shirt pocket. He wasn't going to lose them. Not a single seed.

And he wasn't going to lose Harry either.

He looked back up at the silhouette that was slowly blending into the shadows of the evening. He'd procrastinated long enough. With a deep breath, he made up his mind. He grabbed his walking stick, pulled himself up, and hobbled slowly over to where Harry was sitting.

For a moment, he stood just behind Harry, wondering how he should break the ice. What was he going to say? _Harry, I just wanted to assure you that I've been giving it my most sincere thought, and I promise you that you're not going to die. I think._ Oh yeah, that would be smooth as grit. And for good measure, if he really wanted to mess it all up, he could include a discussion about his reservations regarding his father. But before he could think of how to break the silence, Harry did it for him.

"Draco, if you want to join me, you don't have to ask permission," Harry said neutrally. He scooted over, making room for Draco to sit on the rock, too. "Have a seat."

Feeling foolish, Draco sat down on the edge of the rock, as if somehow, he wasn't supposed to really invade Harry's space. "I... er... I just wanted to... you know..."

"Talk, you mean?"

Draco felt his face burn, and was grateful to the darkness for hiding the deep flush that must surely be gracing his cheeks. "Yeah. Something like that."

He heard Harry sigh. "Not much to talk about, I don't think. I mean, we already know what's going to happen. All we have to do is find the ingredients, make the potion, and hope it works."

"It _will_ work," Draco said with more conviction than he felt.

"Now try saying that like you believe it."

"I _do_ believe it!"

Harry shifted beside him. "Look me in the eye."

Draco glanced up to see Harry looking at him intently, the green of his irises barely visible in the waning light. "Harry, please, I do believe it. I just can't promise... I'm not going to lie to you."

Again, Harry sighed heavily. "I don't want lies. Even if the lies are nicer. It's okay. I don't expect miracles."

A flash of anger rose in Draco. "You should expect to live!" It was bad enough that Draco was having his own doubts. He needed Harry to believe in this, if it was going to work at all.

"I've learned not to have too many expectations in life," Harry replied in a carefully detached tone. "They tend to leave me disappointed."

The silent sorrow in those words felt like a weight that had been dropped squarely on the back of Draco's neck. "You can't mean that."

If anything, Harry looked amused. "And since when has an expectation brought you anything but misery?"

Draco had already opened his mouth to answer before he realized that he had none to give. He closed his mouth and looked away. "I don't mean expectations like that," he mumbled. "I mean, it wouldn't hurt to think positively."

He felt rather than saw Harry nod. "I know what you meant. I'm trying, I really am. It's just... I've been surrounded by so much death for so much of my life, especially in the past few years. I guess I've just always known it was only a matter of time until it was my turn."

"It's not 'your turn', you great prat! So stop saying that!"

Harry shrugged. "Feels like it should be. Listen, I'm sorry. I'm just... not sure what to think right now."

"Well, I think you can still try to make a run for Hogwarts." Draco waited for Harry's response, almost unsure of what he wanted to hear. Then he felt Harry's eyes almost drilling holes through the side of his head. "Right. Right, I know. Never mind."

"It's just that there's a lot that feels so wrong about everything," Harry said in a rush.

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... I'm not sure what I mean. I guess I had always figured it would all end in a spectacular duel, with either me or Voldemort going down in a blaze of flashing curses. All that fury, the adrenaline, and no time to be afraid. Not like this."

 _Ah, I see._ "Are you afraid right now?"

"Actually, no, and that's what worries me. I'm still... numb, I guess. From this morning. The shock is wearing off, but it doesn't quite seem real. I'm not even sure if I'm making any sense."

"You are."

Harry made a noncommittal noise. "It's like I know that at the last minute, it'll suddenly seem real. And when that happens... I don't know if I'll be scared, or furious, or if I'll wish I'd made a different decision."

"And I won't ask you if you want to change your mind now."

"Good. Because I want to make my decision when I'm clear headed... or at least, not in a total panic. I've made up my mind... I'm going to try your solution... and I want you to make sure I stick with it."

Draco wasn't sure if he was hearing that correctly. "What?"

"When the time comes... if I panic... I want you to make sure I don't do anything stupid. I want you to make sure that I don't back out of this."

"I'm not going to force you to do anything, Harry."

"You're not. I'm asking you to do me a favour. As a friend."

A sick feeling began swirling in Draco's stomach, but he wasn't sure why. "Harry, if you're asking me to keep you here, you might be asking me to kill you." It took Draco a second to realize what he'd said. "I... wait, that wasn't what I meant. I meant –"

"No, Draco, you said what you meant."

There was a long pause. Draco looked around distractedly. The darkness had begun to swallow the far shore, and the shadows themselves were beginning to creep in around them. He shivered, and suddenly found himself barely able to keep from fidgeting like a first year. As it was, the sick feeling in his stomach magnified itself several times over. He looked over at Harry.

Harry was staring off across the lake, as though absorbed by the shadows himself. After a long time, he spoke in a low tone, barely above a whisper.

"I think... that this is the best chance I've got, Draco. I really do. I thought about it, as much as I could. If we try to get back to Hogwarts, we could end up simply stranded in the middle of nowhere when... when it happens, and we'll be completely unprepared. Or even if we get back, Dumbledore and Snape might not have any better idea than you have. So... I've made my choice, now, while I'm thinking as clearly as I can. I'm sticking with this. With you." He turned to look at Draco; his face was completely unreadable. "My life is in your hands."

Draco's mouth had gone dry. "Harry..."

"Wait a minute... there's one more thing though." Harry leaned towards Draco. "I need you to promise me something."

"I'll try."

"I suppose that's all I can ask. First, I want you to know that I really think this will work... but in case it doesn't, I need to have a plan... just in case."

Draco folded his arms against his chest and leaned over his knees. Next to him, he could feel Harry shaking. _I've got a bad feeling about this._ "What sort of plan?"

When Harry finally answered, he spoke very slowly, as if afraid of the words about to come out of his mouth. "I can't let him win. No matter what, we can't let him win. And he only wins if _he_ takes my life."

Draco's stomach dropped. "Harry, don't say it. Please, don't –"

A hand gripped Draco's upper arm, and he found himself turned in place to face Harry.

Harry's face was all shadows, with the last traces of daylight reflecting off his smudged glasses. Even the darkness didn't hide the lines of stress around his eyes or the trembling of his lower lip. Still, when he spoke, his voice was steady.

"Draco, if it looks like the plan isn't going to work... at the last minute... I... I need..." He pressed his lips together for a moment, then reached down towards Draco's hip. There was a tugging at his belt, and then Draco saw the inevitable glint of the pale sky reflected on the flat of his dagger. And Harry was holding the handle towards him. "I said it once before... I'd rather die by my own hand than let Voldemort win. I'd even rather let –"

"– me kill you," Draco finished in a dry whisper. His hand began to reflexively move towards the dagger, but he stopped himself. "Harry, I can't. You were right, back in the dungeons there. Even when I thought I wanted to... when I hated you... I couldn't have done it. You can't _possibly_ think that I could do that now... now that I... I feel... like you... that I..."

A faint smile ghosted across Harry's face, and he placed one silencing finger against Draco's lips. Broken words died in Draco's throat as he looked into Harry's eyes, felt Harry's finger on his lips. A small whimper escaped him.

Harry smiled again, and Draco thought he'd never before seen quite such a pained expression. "That's why you should be able to do it. If you're my friend... you won't let him take me. I may not win, but I won't lose, either."

"Harry..."

"Promise me." Harry reached down and took Draco's hand, and gently forced the dagger's handle into his grip. Then he wrapped his own hand around Draco's so that they were both holding the dagger. "Promise me," he said again, "that when the time comes... if it looks like I'm not going to make it... you'll do it."

Unblinking, Draco looked down at the knife in their hands, then back up at Harry. "You're going to make it. Promise me that you're not going to let yourself believe _anything_ else, because I swear this is going to work."

If anything, Harry's hands tightened around Draco's. "I trust you... and I promise."

Feeling slightly ill, Draco wrapped his other hand around Harry's and did his best to return the squeeze. "Then... I promise, too."

Harry didn't smile, but he did nod before releasing Draco's hands and turning away to look back out across the lake.

The far shore was nothing but darkness now, and Draco could barely see the ridges of the waves and ripples out in the middle of the water, where the breeze was strongest. Overhead, a few clouds in the upper atmosphere still held the remnants of the sunset, but they were beginning to fade as the stars blinked into existence around them. And to the east, above the far shore to the left, the silver edge of the moon had intruded from behind the high mountains, obnoxious in its brightness. Its great bulge was almost fully round, and Draco closed his eyes to block it out.

When he opened his eyes, he was looking down at the dagger in his hands. With a grimace, he slipped it back into its sheath, then glanced back up at Harry. Harry was staring straight at the moon. He seemed to realize Draco was looking at him, and spoke without taking his gaze from the lunar invader.

"It looks innocent enough, doesn't it?"

"Not really. Not if you'd read all the books on Dark Lunar Magic that I have."

Harry snorted lightly in response. Finally, he dropped his gaze from the sky. "I'm just so tired."

"Well, we should probably go to sleep. We're going to have a long day tomorrow."

Harry turned his head towards Draco, and without being able to see his expression, he could tell that Harry was scowling at him. "You really think I can lie down and sleep right now?"

Draco let out a slow breath and gave Harry a light bump with his shoulder. "No, probably not. And I don't blame you."

Harry nodded and turned his head back towards the lake. Draco followed his gaze, staring into the shadows. He lost track of time, just sitting like that, pondering how the hell they were going to pull this off, trying to force the terror from his mind, and wondering how he could feel so isolated, yet not alone. With Harry sitting right there, their arms brushing together, Draco could feel Harry's presence, that unique power and aura that was so _Harry_ , overlapping comfortably with his own.

_I can't lose this. I can't lose him._

It felt so comfortable, like they couldn't have been any closer.

Then Draco felt Harry shift. Before he could look, he felt the weight of Harry's head resting solidly on his shoulder, and heard Harry sigh. He couldn't keep the surprise from his voice. "Harry? Are you okay?"

Harry nodded against Draco's neck. "Just... a little... oh, for Merlin's sake, just don't tell anyone about this when we get home, okay?"

No verbal response would quite fit, Draco realized. Feeling extremely self-conscious, but at the same time quite warm and perhaps a bit jittery, he nodded to himself. Gently, he shifted his own seat so that he was sitting as close as possible to Harry, and put his arm around a thin, trembling pair of shoulders. He was amazed when Harry relaxed into the awkward embrace.

"Thank you," Harry whispered.

"Don't worry about it." Draco gave him a little squeeze. "Relax. I've got you."

"I know," Harry said softly. "I know."

*********

_I walk through the gardens of dying light,  
And cross all the rivers deep and dark as the night,  
Searching for a reason why time would've passed us by.  
With every step I take the less I know myself.  
Every vow I break on my way towards your heart.  
Countless times I've prayed for forgiveness.  
But gods just laugh at my face.  
And this path remains.  
(~HIM)_

 


	16. Shadows of the Past

The terrain dragged on endlessly under a flat, overcast sky. On the ground, the air was motionless and stale, and Draco felt as though it were somehow viscous, dragging on him and slowing him down, making movement with an injured ankle and cane even more laborious. At least the landscape seemed less hilly for the moment, and Draco found himself grateful for the rolling fields and tree-dotted floodplains that twisted their way between the mountains and hills to either side. Besides, speed wasn't the objective any more, he reminded himself. The new game was observation.

Harry had already found a hawthorn bush in a thicket, and the thorns had been carefully tucked into Draco's pocket with the other ingredients. Since then, however, the search had been fruitless late into the afternoon. Draco was frustrated, and it was obvious that Harry was nervous. Beyond nervous. Several times, Draco had tried to engage him in casual conversation, but to no avail. Harry wouldn't be pulled into conversation, or otherwise distracted from the black thoughts that must be floating through his head, and his state of mind showed in his every movement.

While Draco was walking with an explainable limp, Harry had no reason other than sheer exhaustion for the way his trainers scraped the ground with every step. His head might have been down because he was looking for the periwinkle, but Draco suspected that his head drooped for the same reason his shoulders slumped. Harry's eyes had deep shadows underneath them, and his hands hung limp at his sides as he walked. The only signs that it wasn't simple fatigue ailing him were the pinched appearance of his mouth, and the harsh set of his jaw. Draco wondered if their expressions matched.

A couple of times, Harry cried out in excitement, thinking that he'd found the small blue flowers, only to look closer and discover that it was a case of mistaken identity or wishful thinking. If anything, that only caused the disappointment to weigh heavier on him. After the third such mistake, Draco knew it was time for a break, if for no other reason than to distract Harry for a few minutes.

"Harry, do you want to stop for a snack?"

Harry didn't even look up, and he replied with a question. "Are you hungry?"

Draco suppressed a sigh, knowing there was only one way to get Harry to stop. "Yes, a bit."

"Okay then."

Harry wasted no time digging a pear out of the sack and passing the sack to Draco, still without making eye contact. Draco accepted the bag, but paused mid-motion as he reached into it. He couldn't stand Harry's prolonged silence, but casual conversation wasn't going anywhere. After digging up an apple, Draco settled back and decided to go for the direct approach.

"What are you thinking about?"

Harry merely shrugged, which caused Draco's frustration to spike.

"Harry, you can't keep going on like this. Are you going to talk to me, or are we going to observe a vow of silence for the rest of the trip?" He waited for Harry's reply, hoping the careful balance of irritation and concern would work.

For a long moment, Harry sat staring off into space, chewing a bite of pear. He swallowed, and waited another moment before speaking. "Not much to talk about, I guess."

Draco frowned. "There's a lot to talk about, and you know it. What would you talk about if Granger and Weasley were here instead of me? You said you confide in them, right?"

Draco had expected _some_ sort of reaction to that. Either an emphatic " _Of course, they're my friends!_ " or possibly " _You don't know what I talk about with them, and don't pretend to understand._ " He would have even been satisfied with an emotional outburst about how much Harry missed them. He didn't expect the odd downward twist of Harry's mouth, not quite a frown, or the furrowed eyebrows.

Draco fidgeted. "Well, don't you?"

"Not so much, lately," Harry said sadly. "They were the only ones I really _could_ talk to, but after last spring, at the Ministry, I didn't feel much like talking. To anyone. And for so long, everyone thought I was crazy, and even though Ron and Hermione said they didn't think I was... I just didn't want to talk about everything that was going on. After so much shit, there's just not much to be said anymore."

Understanding slowly washed over Draco. "After a point, what _can_ you say, right?"

"Pretty much." Harry took another bite of pear, but as he swallowed, he settled into a more comfortable position. Draco took that as a good sign that he might be more willing to talk, and waited for Harry to continue.

"I didn't want to upset anyone anymore," Harry started. "There was never any good news, and nobody believed me anyway. The more I talked, the more trouble it caused me. I threw myself into the DA, but you eventually ruined that for me. No hard feelings... sorta. And then, after everything came crashing down at the Ministry, I just... had nothing to say. It's funny, but I've actually talked to you more in the past two weeks than I have to anyone since last spring. Still, either way, I'm tired of bad news."

 _So am I, Harry. So am I._ "Well, that was then, and this is now. So... if your friends were here, what would you talk about with them?"

Harry looked amused. "One of my friends is here."

Draco rolled his eyes in a vain effort to divert attention from the redness he knew was seeping across his cheeks. "Potter, you are so predictable."

"Predictable, am I?"

"You always have been." Draco grinned. "And right now, you're desperately thinking of something to do to surprise me and prove me wrong, and you're not coming up with anything, are you?"

Harry looked like he had just swallowed a whole lemon. "You know, one of these days, I'm going to just do something totally random, and I _will_ surprise you."

Draco's grin grew even wider. "I look forward to it. Will it involve a grass skirt, a coconut-shell bra, and a tray of Mai Tai's?"

Now Harry looked like he was choking on the imaginary lemon. "Wha – what?"

The grin became a smirk. "Just wanted to see the look on your face. And look. I finally seem to have distracted you."

Harry's look of shock quickly became a harsh scowl, although there was still a flush visible across his cheekbones. "Fine. _Fine_. You want me to talk? _Fine_! First, you ought to know that I've told you things in the past two weeks that I've never even _mentioned_ to Ron and Hermione. Don't look so surprised. Chances are that if they were here right now, I'd be talking even less. I can't explain why, and I don't feel proud about it.

"And seeing as you _must_ know what I've been thinking all day, the answer is 'not a hell of a lot'. I can't think about Hogwarts, because it only makes me more homesick. I'm not thinking about your plan, because I barely understand it, and it only makes me more nervous. And I've barely been thinking about Ron and Hermione, because every time I do, I keep wondering if I'll never see them again!"

Harry came to a crashing stop in his monologue, and if anything, he looked slightly out of breath. Draco stared at him, not quite sure what to say to that. After a moment, Harry lost the slightly wild look, bit down lightly on his lower lip, then sighed dejectedly. "I wish they were here, though. Hermione would be able to work with you on that theory of yours – and don't look so affronted. You know she'd be a huge help."

"Sorry," Draco mumbled. "Force of habit. You're right."

Harry nodded. "Two great minds are still better than one, and I'd bet a second opinion would make you feel better, too."

The sideways compliment didn't escape Draco's attention, but he instinctively didn't appreciate being favourably compared with a Muggle-born, nor being told that he could use her help, even if he probably could. "Yeah. I know. It would."

Harry mouth twitched with a weak smile. "'s'okay. Hermione really is great in a crisis, though. She can figure out anything. She's saved my neck so many times. If it wasn't for her, I probably would have died long ago. And then Ron... ha, if Ron was here, I'd be so busy trying to keep him from killing you that I wouldn't have time to worry about dying. I can hear him now. ' _Harry, how can you even be sitting with him! It's Draco-bloody-Malfoy! The Ferret! He's just waiting for a chance to hex you!_ ' And he'd turn so red that his freckles would look light in comparison. That – Draco, are you okay?"

A twisting sensation had gripped Draco by the gut, almost like a slow Portkey. He'd been trying not to think about it so much, but once again, he was being reminded that he was straddling the line between two sides of a very serious fight. Just as he was no longer welcome back home, he certainly wouldn't be given a hero's welcome back at Hogwarts. His one connection to the world was now Harry, but it was obvious that even Harry's friends would probably want to see him dead after all this. Shaking his head, he bit the last chunk of apple off the core, tossed the core away, and hauled himself to his feet using the cane. "Let's keep walking, okay?"

Harry looked a bit confused, but quickly scrambled to his feet and followed after Draco, still munching on his pear. "I'll see them again," Harry muttered to himself around his mouthful. "I have to. Of course I will." He swallowed and began speaking clearly again. "It's going to be really different with you, and them. I wonder if they have any idea what happened, or if they understand that you designed our escape. I wonder how... Draco, are you sure you're okay?"

Draco had already stopped. He'd intended to walk to keep his mind from turning in circles, but instead his circular thoughts were keeping him from walking. "If I want the truth out of you," Draco said, barely under his breath, "I'd better be willing to do the same, I suppose."

"What?"

Draco spared Harry a sideways glance, which allowed him to see the confusion spread across Harry's features. Draco shook his head to himself. "I've been trying not to think about this myself, but Harry, what are your friends going to do to me when we get back?"

"My friends... do... to... huh?"

Draco gritted his teeth. _Is he honestly not aware of it?_ "I already told you what the Slytherins are going to do to me, but it's not like I'm going to have any help from the other side of the fence either. Weasley's going to curse me on sight. Granger will – I don't know – drop a really heavy library book on me in my sleep! Whatever they do, it's not going to be pleasant, and nobody's going to blame them! And if I'm not getting ahead of myself, once they're done with me, I'm sure to be arrested on the spot!"

If anything, Harry seemed even more confused. "Where did all this come from?"

"You mean you haven't thought about it?"

Harry frowned. "No, not really."

"Foresight isn't your strong suit, is it?"

"Hey, stop right there." Harry grabbed Draco and spun him around, bringing them face to face. "Maybe I haven't thought about it because I don't think there's going to be a problem."

"Maybe you don't see the problem because you haven't thought about it. Just... hear me out." Draco twisted his shoulder out of Harry's grasp and started walking again slowly, using the cane for emotional support as much as physical. "I already explained to you that my house is pretty sure to have disowned me, but... I've been worried... wondering... what am I actually going to do when I get there? Who's going to want me?"

If anything, Harry looked hurt by that. "I –"

"I know what you're going to say, Harry... and don't think I'm not grateful for that... but weren't you just saying that if Ron was here, you'd have to keep him from attacking me?"

"Well, I said it, but I didn't –"

"You meant it," Draco said flatly. "And you're right. They're going to kill me if they can get their hands on me."

"Not when I explain everything! Once they understand what you've done to get us this far, and everything you've done for me, it'll be okay."

Draco looked over at him plaintively. "But can you convince them before they kill me, or will you have to beg my case posthumously?"

Harry seemed like he was about to launch an argument, but cut off whatever he was about to say and frowned. "Can we stop talking about death, please?"

"Oh. Sorry," Draco said, although his tone was only partially apologetic.

Harry scowled. "Well, then, if you want to talk about death, while we're on the topic..."

Draco suddenly wished he'd simply conceded ungrudgingly. "I thought you didn't want to talk about it."

"I've got something I've been wondering about."

He raised an eyebrow warily. "Okay..."

"Please don't take this the wrong way."

"Oh, when you say it like that, it makes me feel so much better," Draco snapped. When Harry glared at him, he threw his head back in defeat. "I'm kidding. Go ahead. I'm sure I can take it."

Harry nodded, and hesitated, as though he really wasn't sure he wanted to speak his mind. Finally, he nodded to himself, and looked over at Draco with an unreadable expression. "I've been wondering about this for a while. I know you don't _now_ , but did you ever... I know, it's not exactly the nicest question, but I need to know... did you ever really want to kill me?"

The question was like a bucketful of ice water, and Draco couldn't stop himself from gasping. "I ... thought I did. And I wanted to... to hurt you," he admitted reluctantly. "I wanted you to suffer, to make you pay."

"But did you...?" Harry let the question hang heavily in the air.

"No," Draco said with a conviction that surprised even him. He softened his tone, looked Harry in the eye, and said again, "No, I didn't."

Harry seemed satisfied with this. Not happy, but accepting. Draco relaxed a bit, but then Harry spoke again. "What were you thinking when you stabbed me?"

Draco flinched. "How can you say that so easily?"

Harry shrugged.

"Yeah. You want to know what I was thinking?"

"That's why I asked."

"I guess turnabout is fair play," Draco said sadly. "Simple truth is... I wasn't thinking. Well, not really. Just a few basic thoughts. _Be quiet. Wait for the right moment. And don't think._ "

"Why?"

"You're not going to let me off of this, are you?"

Harry shook his head, and Draco groaned softly. "I wasn't thinking because if I had, then that might have given me a chance to royally fuck up. When you think, you make mistakes. At that point, I didn't need to think anymore anyway. I'd already done enough thinking. Spent the whole summer obsessing over it. There was nothing left to do… but to do it."

"The whole summer?" Harry asked.

Draco tipped his head in affirmation. "Oh yes. Actually, it started before the summer holiday even began. I had spent the last weeks of school thinking of revenge, wanting to do something. I got home from Hogwarts, and the following week, my father broke out of Azkaban. I started pestering him, asking if I could borrow one of his cursed trinkets to use on you, but he said that my stupid games had no place in the middle of a war. He said the Dark Lord would be furious if I caused unplanned damage to you before he got you himself, and to stop bothering him about such foolish pursuits."

Draco closed his eyes for a moment as he recalled the events that would ultimately lead him to where he was now. He had been so pleased with himself at the time. So smug. Now, the memory made him distinctly uncomfortable. He opened his eyes to see Harry staring back at him, giving him a look that demanded he carry on. Draco sighed, and continued.

"So, I kept quiet for a few days. Then, one evening, I overheard Aunt Bellatrix say that the Dark Lord wanted to get you from inside Hogwarts, because that was the only place he _could_ get you. And that's when I had my idea. I was inside Hogwarts; I could do it. So I begged my father. Repeatedly. He was considering it, but my mother refused to let me. She rarely defied my father openly, and I've almost never seen her get emotional, but this time, she screamed, she yelled, and she even smashed some of the wineglasses my father had given her for her last birthday. I had no idea why she was so against it. Maybe the same reason she didn't want me to go to Durmstrang, but I never really knew her reasons for that either."

"Anyway, I waited, and one night, when Aunt Bella came to visit again, I asked my father again, in front of her. Aunt Bella thought it was brilliant. I think she told the Dark Lord herself, because the next day, my father told me I could do it. I don't know if he was pleased with the idea or not; I don't think he thought I could do it. Of course, when I did, he was proud of me. Really proud of me, for the first time that I can remember. On the other hand, mother was furious. She wouldn't talk to him. She spoke to me less than usual. I still don't understand why... I would have thought she'd be proud."

At that, Harry leaned back and made a low, humming sound in his throat. Instantly, Draco felt a surge of defensiveness. "What?"

"I'm just making some observations."

Draco scowled darkly at him. "Oh, so now you're playing psychoanalyst?"

Harry frowned and shook his head vehemently. "No! Not at all. I'm just… learning something new about you. It's interesting."

"Oh great. Well, I'm glad I can provide you with such amusement."

"That's not what I meant! I mean… I like learning about you. That's all." He bobbed his head once. "Please… finish your story?"

Draco almost refused, but Harry looked authentically curious. This was something Draco had never spoken about before, and the idea of exposing these thoughts left him feeling a bit naked, but he'd already shown so much to Harry. He might as well oblige Harry the rest of the story. "I'm sure you've figured out by now that my parents weren't exactly warm, fuzzy people. I learned not to expect affection. I think it was mostly because my father wanted to groom me for service to the Dark Lord... and warm fuzziness isn't exactly conducive to that career, as you know. Still, affectionate or not, I still wanted their attention, and I was willing to do whatever it took to get it. Whatever I tried to do to impress them though... I think I kept missing the mark. But this time, when I got you, my father seemed like he was actually proud, although Mother still wouldn't talk to me. I didn't think much about it at the time, but now, I really wish we'd talked before... before I left."

"Your parents... I never really thought about them like that."

"Like what?"

"Like parents." Harry sounded oddly ashamed.

Draco snorted grimly. "Well, from what I know, your encounters with my father never really gave you anything pleasant to go on." He hung his head. "I'm worried about them, though."

Harry's eyes widened suddenly. "My god, I forgot. You said... you said that Voldemort..." His voice trailed off.

Draco shrugged. "You were distracted with your own problems, but I'm worried about you, _and_ them. I don't know what he did, or what he's going to do to them. I don't even know if it's all just a ploy to scare me." His voice wavered. "Would he kill them, Harry? To get to me?"

"I... wish I could say no –"

"Don't sugar-coat it. Say it." Draco braced himself anyway.

"I wouldn't put anything past Voldemort."

It hurt to hear, but Draco knew he'd needed to hear it. It left a painful lump in his stomach, and a hollowness in his chest, but he could handle it. He had to handle it. "I can't save them, can I?"

Harry paused for a moment, then his face melted into a look of shocked realization. "That's why you were willing to risk going back!"

Draco could only nod.

"Why didn't you say so?"

"I couldn't. I didn't know what to say. You were already so upset."

"Draco... you're talking about your parents. I may hate them, but I would understand. At least, I can understand that better than your suicidal 'I'll expose myself and just see what happens for no good reason' plan. Do you... do you want to go back?"

This was the core of the issue. Draco's last hurdle: his nagging second thoughts and reservations. He needed to put his dilemma into words; needed to put it out in the open for Harry to hear it. If he could voice it, he could conquer it. He spoke slowly, deliberately, carefully considering the facts as he said them. "The Dark Lord said that he'd kill me anyway... but that if I went back, he'd spare my parents. He said he's already killed my mother... but now he's threatening to kill my father. If I don't go back, with you, he'll do it. I was thinking that if I went back anyway, without you, I could have told him that I tried to bring you back, but you fought me off. I'd use the ankle injury as evidence. That way, you could still try to make it to Hogwarts, and I'd have a chance of saving my parents." He held his breath for a second. "I... want to go back... but I want to stay with you. So I –"

"You let me make the decision for you."

Draco nodded meekly.

"I can't do that, Draco. I can't be responsible for what happens to you, or – as much as I don't like them – your parents. I can't decide if you're going to stay or not."

"I know. So I decided."

"And...?"

"I'm still here, right?" He waited until Harry mumbled something that sounded like, 'yeah, I guess,' in acknowledgement. "And my father... he's strong. He can take care of himself. He got out of Azkaban, didn't he? And my mother... he'll take care of her. They'll be okay. Right?"

Harry hesitated, just a bit too long. When he noticed the sudden slump in Draco's shoulders, his eyes widened. "Draco, I'm sure your parents will –"

"Stop. I told you not to sugar-coat it. Don't. I shouldn't have asked you that anyway."

"I'll ask you again: do you want to go back for them?"

Draco let his head fall forward. "What would happen if I went back? I already told you. You'd die. I'd die. My mother might already be dead anyway. She was the one who didn't want me to do this in the first place, and look what happened. Why didn't I listen to her?"

Harry gave a half-smile. "Since when have you listened to anyone?"

Draco mirrored the expression. "Point." His face fell again. "What were my chances? I mean, really? Maybe my mother was right. So many people had tried to get you out of the school. My father said that most of them were stopped by Dumbledore's people before they came anywhere near Hogwarts. Only one ever succeeded, and even he was caught almost immediately. I never really considered the possibility of failure, but what if I had failed?"

"Er... then we wouldn't be here."

Draco took a slow breath, feeling a jab of pain through the hollow spot in his chest.

"Draco?"

He grabbed Harry by the sleeve and stopped short, looking squarely at Harry's face. "What happens when someone fails the Dark Lord?"

Draco waited until he could see the comprehension flash across Harry's face, then he nodded and released Harry's sleeve. "I was so intent on getting _you_ that I never really considered the risks. It didn't matter. I succeeded catching you, but I jumped ship before I'd completed my 'mission'. I was a failure to the Dark Lord, and a traitor. You know what he does with traitors. So now I've got a new mission – a mission of my own – but even if I succeed in getting us both home alive, that only makes me a bigger failure to the Dark Lord. It puts me even further from where I was _supposed_ to be; the complete antithesis of what I was supposed to do. Does that make sense?"

"It does."

"It's just that if – when we make it back... oh hell, I'll be in enough danger from your friends at Hogwarts, and the Ministry, but I'll be in the most danger from the Dark Lord. He'll find me. I'm sure that right now he's almost as angry with me as he is with you. Don't you see, Harry? Both sides are going to want my head on a stake. I have no out on either end. No safe zones. I'm a marked man. I can't even begin to imagine what will happen if I fail tomorrow night, but even if I succeed, You-Know-Who is going to want to kill me even more. You know he stops at nothing."

"Well..." Harry mused softly to himself for a moment. "You're going to be at Hogwarts soon. I don't think Voldemort is going to get you within the walls of Hogwarts, not with Dumbledore there."

"Harry, I was able to –"

"Don't start that. I know you caught me. But you know, I've been thinking... Dumbledore is pretty perceptive. I know you think he's not all there, but if he wasn't, then why would Voldemort be scared of him? And I figured, maybe... just maybe... you got away with what you did because Dumbledore didn't really think the worst of you. He tends to be right about people. Maybe he thought you wouldn't really do anything all that bad."

Draco snorted derisively. "Wouldn't that just be proof that he _doesn't_ have the best perception of people?"

"You escaped with me, in case you forgot."

Draco could only shrug in response.

"Besides, you caught me... but who would they send after you? Crabbe and Goyle? Do you honestly think the likes of them could catch _you_?"

Draco quirked his head to the side with a half-smile. "You know... that actually made me feel a little bit better. Not much, but some."

"Glad to hear it."

Taking the excuse to switch to a lighter subject, Draco started walking again, and said easily, "You know what's funny? I really _am_ starting to miss Greg and Vince."

Harry must have understood the intentional shift of topics, because he quickly slipped into the same casual tone. "Why would that be so funny? I mean, you said they were pretty much friends by default, but haven't they been your friends since you were really young?"

"Yeah."

"Then it's perfectly natural to miss them." Harry clapped him on the shoulder once. "And who knows? Maybe you can talk some sense into them when we get back. You've been able to make them do pretty much anything you wanted your entire life, right? Maybe you can bring them around on this."

Draco shrugged to himself, but was able to delay his response for a moment while he manoeuvred his way through a small gully. After a moment, though, he could feel the pressure of Harry's gaze, demanding a response. He sighed. "I don't know. I guess I always figured we were friends because our parents were in the same social circles. Just... took it for granted that they'd always be there. I'm out of that circle now."

"But surely, in all the time you spent together, you became more than just acquaintances?"

It was tempting to let himself believe that, but Draco knew better. Still, he _had_ shared some fond memories with his two favourite goons. "You know, when we were younger, before Hogwarts, Vincent came over to my house one day, crying. He'd been told to ' _get out of the house, you worthless Squib of a boy_ ' by his father. He hadn't shown signs of magic until he was eight, and his father was a bit harsh with him until he actually had his Hogwarts letter in his hands. I kinda took him under my wing that day, and started teaching him some of my favourite hexes using the wand my grandfather had given to me behind my father's back. It made him more confident, and he thought that maybe his father might even be proud of him someday. He was so loyal, he'd do anything for me."

Harry didn't say anything, and Draco was grateful that he could simply get wrapped up in the memory.

"Gregory is the smarter one. He can actually be somewhat cunning, when he's not looking for things to squish. I suspect that he'll dating Eleanor Bulstrode, Millie's little sister, by the end of the year. I don't want to see the children, though."

Harry actually chuckled at that, and Draco grinned. "Ron and Hermione, too, I'd suspect," Harry said, "if they ever figure it out at the same time."

This time, Draco laughed. "Everyone knows about those two. Obvious. Even I can tell they fight like a married couple. Sad, really. Those children are going to have the worst hair –"

"Draco!" Harry snapped, but Draco could tell he was entertaining the image of a gaggle of children, all with puffy ginger hair. "And what about you? Does dear old Pansy Parkinson have no chance of eternal marital bliss?"

Instantaneously, Draco's stomach churned at the thought. "I have already explained to you, _Potter_ , that I put up with Pansy's simpering because it kept my father satisfied. Besides, the more I pushed Pansy away, the harder she clung. I wouldn't even inflict that pug-faced limpet on Vincent."

"You're never going to tell me who you want to date, are you?"

Draco glared at Harry with a hooded expression. "Let me put it to you this way: there are no girls in Hogwarts in whom I have any interest."

"Well, maybe you could turn Crabbe into a girl," Harry said without missing a beat.

Draco almost tripped over his own feet, and he stopped short. "I don't know if that image makes me want to cry, or vomit."

"Well, if you're going to throw up, please aim in the other direction."

Draco scowled and said, "Your sympathy is astounding. Besides, if Vince were a girl, Gregory would forget all about Eleanor."

"Hmm, I always thought those two were pretty close," Harry said offhandedly.

Surprised to hear Harry say that, Draco raised an eyebrow. "You know, I did find them asleep in a tiny closet together once, without their robes."

"Really?" Harry asked, incredulously.

"Yeah. It was the weirdest thing too. They had been acting funny all evening, and suddenly they ran off together. I finally found them in the closet. Took me forever to wake them up and they had cake icing all over their faces."

For an instant, Harry had the most dumbstruck look plastered across his face, a second before he collapsed against the nearest tree, laughing so hard that tears squeezed out the corners of his eyes. "Oh my... I totally forgot about... I should have thought of it... hahaha!"

Draco stood staring, wondering if Harry had finally cracked. "Er, Harry?

"That's the funniest... I can't believe they were still... ha!"

"Would you kindly explain this insanely funny joke, because I seem to be missing something," Draco said, with just a touch of impatience.

After another moment of uncontrolled laughter, Harry quieted himself, leaned forward, and hauled himself to his feet. "Long story," he said in a rush, still out of breath. He glanced down, as though noticing something out of the corner of his eye. "Look! Periwinkle!"

It only took Draco a split second to realize that Harry was not merely using a diversionary tactic; he'd actually found the plant. Draco's curiosity about Harry's outburst of laughter was quickly overrun by a surge of elation. He knelt as quickly as he could and began carefully harvesting the small blue flowers, stems and all.

"Only two ingredients left," Harry said quietly, as he pulled up the tiny plants. "Just two more." He looked up at Draco. "We can really do this, can't we?"

Draco looked from Harry, to the flowers in his hand, and back to Harry. Mustering the bravest smile he could, he nodded. "Yes, we can."

As Draco removed his handkerchief from his pocket, into which he would fold the Sorcerer's Violet, he kept glancing over at Harry. It was good to see him laugh again. That was the Harry he was starting to care for so much, and that was the Harry he needed to see right now.

Once the flowers had been tucked away, and both of them were back on their feet, walking, Draco elbowed Harry lightly. "So, Potter, tell me what the hell you did to Vince and Gregory."

"Er..."

*********

By the time Harry finished explaining the Polyjuice incident, Draco was so amused that he found himself mentally congratulating Harry on his brilliant plan. Or more specifically, Granger's brilliant plan. Of course, he was still miffed by the fact that _Harry Potter_ had managed to sneak into the Slytherin common room right under his nose, but the image of Vincent and Gregory stuffing their faces with potion-laced sweets... it was just too good.

"I always told them that their appetites would be the death of them," Draco exclaimed melodramatically.

"Come on now, we didn't poison them."

"Well, that's probably because Granger brewed the potion. If you or Weasley had done it..." He let his voice trail off suggestively, which earned him a good-natured shove. "Hey, easy there! I'm broken, remember?"

"Yeah, I know," Harry said lightly. "How's it feeling?"

"I feel like I could dance the Wizard's Waltz." At Harry's scornful look of disapproval, Draco rolled his eyes. "It's no better, no worse. I'll be fine until we have to climb the next hill."

"I think we'll be able to stick to this valley for a while, actually," Harry said as he pulled out his wand. He incanted a quick " _Point Me"_ and nodded his satisfaction. "It's going pretty much due south."

"That's fine... Harry, do you remember Professor Sprout saying anything about _where_ these plants usually grow?"

"Not a thing." Harry stepped over a log and offered a hand to help Draco over. "I mean, mistletoe usually grows on large trees, right? Those are all over the place, so it's just a matter of finding it. But I have no idea the kind of terrain where we'd find yew."

Draco grunted as he shifted his weight onto his bad ankle, then breathed in relief when he finally had both feet and his cane on the ground again. "Well, there are plenty of trees around here that _might_ have mistletoe... but the only places I've ever seen yew have been in old graveyards. There used to be some on the grounds of Malfoy Manor, but my mother had them removed."

"Ah," Harry said absently. "I wonder why."

"Not a clue. I think she said she didn't like the magic they gave off. Maybe they made her think of death. Not exactly a pleasant thought every time you want to go for a stroll through the gardens."

"Voldemort's wand is made of yew."

At that, Draco raised an eyebrow. "And how did you stumble across that little bit of information?"

Harry merely shrugged, and Draco took it as a hint that Harry really didn't care to discuss the details. After a moment, Harry said, "His wand has the same core as mine, though. Feathers from the same phoenix. But mine is made of holly."

"Holly, huh?" Draco mused aloud, processing the information. "That's some really interesting symbolism. I'll have to look that up when we get back home."

"Interesting in what way?"

"Well, it's just interesting because yew is largely considered a tree of death, whereas holly has some strong protective magic. I don't know too much about it, but like I said, I'll look it up when we get home."

"Home... Hogwarts?"

Immediately, Draco felt his stomach jump. "You know what I meant. Yeah, Hogwarts."

Harry nodded sympathetically. "Draco, do you think you'll ever go back home?"

The question was so sudden that Draco began to answer before he realized what had been asked. "Well, I – oh." He tried to scowl, but barely managed a sullen frown. "Half of me desperately wants to, and the other half is too afraid. Maybe, someday... if You – no, _when_ You-Know-Who is gone, I'll be able to go back."

Harry nodded grimly. "Well, I suppose that means I'll have to beat him, doesn't it?"

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "That's not exactly the reason I'd expect you to use for motivation to beat him."

"But it's as good a reason as any, right?"

"Not really."

"Then what _is_ a good reason?" Harry said crossly. "I have to beat him, because that stupid prophecy says so, and I _want_ to beat him for more reasons than I can count, so why not add one more to the pile?"

"Well, when you say it like that... okay. Just make sure my reason is at the top of the list, because you know I come first, right?"

"Absolutely," Harry said, sounding dead serious, but then he suddenly reached over and gently patted Draco on the top of the head in the most patronizing manner possible.

"Cut that out!" Draco snapped, batting Harry's hand away like a buzzing gnat.

"Sure," Harry said, but an instant later, he reached over and thoroughly ruffled Draco's hair.

"Merlin! No!" Draco cried in mock-horror. "Anything but the hair! Y'er killin' me! Aaaah!" He shoved Harry, and made a huge fuss over straightening his hair as best he could.

Harry was laughing at him heartily. "Come on, Draco. You know that messy hair is the latest fashion. All the rage. The girls love it. Maybe you could even dye yours black."

Draco turned his head away and refused to meet Harry's amused gaze. "Absolute fashion atrocity," he grumbled to himself. "How you can even be allowed out in public with a mop like that is beyond me. And to suggest that I would _ever_ alter my fine, trademarked locks, for any reason –"

He was cut off by the sound of a branch breaking, and a sharp, surprised yell.

"Harry!" Draco spun around to look where Harry was standing a moment before, but there was nobody. Then a groan. "Harry?"

"Down here... just what I need... another bloody hole in the ground. Ow, my arse."

Draco took a step and looked down, and was amazed that he hadn't noticed it before. Harry was sitting in a large, broad, square-shaped hole about six feet deep, so thickly overgrown with vines and filled with plant growth that it blended almost completely with the landscape.

"I think this is the foundation of an old house," Harry said, getting to his feet awkwardly, rubbing his rear end. "Damn, that hurts. Should teach me to watch where I'm going. But look, you can see some stones beneath the vines here. It looks like there used to be a cabin here, ages ago."

"Yeah. Are you okay?"

"Fine. Really," Harry said distractedly, still rubbing his backside as he took in his surroundings. "Gonna have a nasty bruise there, but that's it. Plants padded the landing. I wonder what the remains of a cabin are doing all the way out here?"

"Don't know," Draco answered. He looked up and glanced around the area. At first, he saw nothing unusual, but on closer inspection... "There's a stone wall a little ways over there," he said, pointing over his shoulder. "And I might be wrong, but I think that's another foundation a little ways further."

"Wonderful," Harry said, although his tone of voice indicated that he really didn't care. "Civilization. Just what we're looking for. Too bad we're, oh, _a few hundred years too late_."

"Actually, this might be a sign that we're getting close to Hogwarts. I mean, it's an ancient castle... I know there used to be surrounding villages."

Harry seemed to consider this. "Maybe you're right. But first I need to get out of this damned hole." He walked towards where Draco was standing above him, looking down.

Draco gave him a soft smirk. "You do have a habit of finding those things the hard way, don't you?"

Harry glowered. "Can you just shut up and give me a hand, already?"

Draco laughed and reached down. A moment later, with some grunting, he'd managed to pull Harry enough for him to climb the moss-slicked rocks lining the old foundation. "I actually remember seeing a really old map of the area around Hogwarts," Draco said as Harry dusted himself off. "It was in my father's library. It showed a small Muggle settlement about thirty miles north-by-northeast of Hogwarts, and this might be it. So at least we have an idea of where we might be."

"What happened to the place? Obviously, there are no Muggles here now."

"Well, there used to be Muggles in this part of Scotland, but in 1793, the Muggles started getting far too close to Hogwarts on hunting parties, so close that they could possibly have penetrated the illusions around the castle, especially if there was a unaware Muggle-born witch or wizard amongst them – didn't you ever read 'Hogwarts, A History'?"

Harry groaned. "Not you, too!"

"What?"

"Never mind. Just... go on. What were you saying?"

Draco shrugged off Harry's odd behaviour. "In short, the whole village was relocated, and the Muggles' memories were altered, and the illusions and Muggle-repelling charms were completely redesigned and strengthened."

"That doesn't seem quite right, somehow," Harry said with a touch of defiance. "Just moving an entire village without their consent." He started walking again, albeit awkwardly.

Draco shook his head to himself and quickly hobbled along until he'd caught up. "Why not? The Muggles didn't know any better, and we kept them from messing with our stuff. Would _you_ want an armed hunting party of Muggles to suddenly arrive at the front door of Hogwarts?"

Harry opened his mouth, but by the twisted expression of displeasure, it was fairly obvious that he didn't have an answer he wanted to give. "I just don't approve of the idea of forcing people from their homes. Surely, there had to have been a better way."

Draco looked at Harry with a patient, yet patronizing expression. "When you think of one, you let me know. If the Muggles had continued to settle the area, they might have expanded out far enough to encroach on Hogsmeade. It was better to get them out early, and then give them the illusion that the entire region was inhospitable and uninhabitable. Could you imagine a full Muggle town, and their huge roads cutting through the area? Muggles accidentally walking into Hogsmeade? Or some young Muggle-born wizard who doesn't know any better leading his Muggle friends right onto the Quidditch pitch in the middle of a game? Endless problems, and you know it. There's a reason why the Muggles should be kept away from the wizarding world."

Harry muttered something under his breath.

Holding back a grin, Draco raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What was that?"

"I said, 'you're right'," Harry snapped. He looked down at another deserted foundation as they passed by. "I just wish there was a better way."

"Harry, as long as there are differences between people, there are going to be reasons to keep those groups separate."

Harry's head shot up, his eyes blazing. "Really now?"

"Well, it just makes sense. And there are plenty of reasons why. Come on, Harry... didn't you just agree that keeping the Muggles away from the wizarding world was a good idea?"

Harry didn't seem fazed by this. "I can see how letting a Muggle community grow right next to Hogwarts might cause problems, but the way you just said that... do you know what racism is?"

"Huh?" Draco cocked his head in honest confusion.

Harry grimaced darkly. "Okay, think about it this way... is Blaise Zabini your friend?"

"Well, sure... or at least he was, as much as any other Slytherin in my year. And why wouldn't he be? Proper, pure-blooded wizard, from a family of strong wizards and witches."

"In other words, it doesn't make any difference to you what colour his skin is, right?"

If anything, this confused Draco even more. "Why would I care about that? The packaging doesn't matter. So he's black. It's what runs through your veins, not the colour of the wrapping."

"So if the blood is the same, the people are of equal value, right?"

"That's right," Draco replied, trying to sound sure of himself, but something in Harry's tone made him wary. Before he could say anything else, Harry had grabbed his dagger. "Harry, what –"

"I'm a half-blood, right?"

"Well, technically, yeah, I guess –"

"And you're a pure-blood."

"Of course, but what –"

"So our blood is different, right?"

Draco knew what he was going to do a split second before it happened. "Harry, wait!"

With the flash of the dagger, a bright red streak welled up in the palm of Harry's left hand. For a moment, Draco was afraid Harry was going to cut him, but instead, Harry handed the dagger to him, handle-first. "Your turn," he said flatly. "Prove to me that pure blood is different."

Compelled to do it, Draco didn't even wince as the blade cut into his hand, although the sight of his own blood made his stomach spin a bit. He didn't stare at it for long before Harry's uncut hand snaked out and seized him by the wrist. He pulled their cut hands next to each other. Two bright red slashes lay side by side, glistening in the afternoon light. They were identical in every way: the shade, the hue, the way the crimson liquid slowly pooled in the cups of their hands.

"Well, what do you know," Harry said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "They both look like blood to me. And here's a newsflash, Draco: Muggles' blood looks exactly the same. And by whatever grace or curse some so-called 'pure-bloods' have Squib children, or Muggles sometimes give birth to witches and wizards, I'll guess it has nothing to do with the blood itself. Maybe magic has a will of its own. Who knows why some people are born with magic, and some aren't? If you woke up tomorrow morning, and suddenly, you couldn't cast a single spell, would that make you any less of a human being?"

Stunned by the onslaught, Draco stammered the first response that came to mind. "My... my father would say so. He would disown me."

For just a moment, Harry's hard glare softened. "I wouldn't, you know." Then he scowled again. "And you already know what I think of your father anyway. But what if you had been born to Muggles? Luck of the draw. Born to Muggles, but you could do magic... wouldn't you want to learn to use that skill?"

"I..." Any stupid excuse he could think of was abruptly cut short by the look on Harry's face. Draco sighed. "All right, yes, I would. I get it, Potter. You win." Draco withdrew his hand and tipped it, letting the blood drip to the ground. "You always win," he added sullenly.

"No, I don't. I already agreed that there was a good reason to keep Muggles out of the thick of the wizarding world, but... at the most basic level, we're all just human, right?"

"I suppose," Draco mumbled. "I still don't like them."

Harry shook his head. "Maybe someday." He held up his injured hand, and suddenly looked a bit sheepish. "Would you... er... mind fixing it? You're good at cuts and scrapes, if I remember correctly."

Draco took a deep breath and forced himself to relax a bit. He pulled out his wand, aimed it at Harry's hand, and an instant later, the cut had healed without a trace. Barely speaking above a whisper, he repeated the charm on his own hand, and charmed away the excess blood. For a long moment, Draco looked at the palm of his hand; it was perfectly smooth, not even a hint of a scar. He wondered what it must be like for Muggles, who would have to let something like that heal naturally, and how long it must take. A day? More? Draco didn't know. He had never been without magic. Such an existence suddenly seemed rather daunting.

He was pulled from his thoughts as Harry started to walk again. As Draco fell into step, he felt the now familiar twinge in his ankle with each movement, and was hit again by how accustomed he was to having everything fixed instantly with magic. How many times had he been told that magic couldn't fix everything? Quite a few, he reasoned, but the people saying such things were usually professors – people who wanted him to do work for himself. His father had always told him that magic and power were the answers to all life's problems. Draco grimaced at the thought. Once again, his father was wrong about something. He hated such thoughts. Hoping to distract himself, he glanced aside at Harry, who was looking straight forward as he walked, with the most serious expression on his face.

"Draco, did you know that Muggles used to kill or enslave each other for differences as minor as skin colour? And religion? Whole races would deem themselves superior to others."

 _That_ was certainly a distraction. "What? You're kidding me."

"No, I'm not. Some of them still do."

Draco sneered at the sheer stupidity of it. "And what kind of excuse did those barbarians have?"

Harry gave him a look of supreme distaste. "Does it matter? They're just Muggles, right?"

"Harry, will you please just make your point, okay? I'm sure even Muggles would have some reason or rationale for that sort of shit, even if their excuse was pathetic."

"Oh, sure, they had plenty of reasons. The usual, you know. How groups of people who had different skin colours, or were of different religions, were inherently different, and therefore inferior. If groups and cultures were different, they should be kept apart if possible, or controlled when convenient, or even enslaved and killed when it suited the more powerful group."

"That's... that's... oh, shit. That's what I just said, isn't it?"

Harry nodded, still not looking at Draco. "Only a few decades ago, millions of people were killed, all in the name of 'pure blood'. And these were Muggles, talking about other Muggles, killing other Muggles. Eleven million, or more, dead. For no good reason."

"Wait a minute... a few decades ago..." Draco said slowly. "Some madman named Hister, right?"

"Hitler. But yeah."

Draco felt himself go numb, like his veins had just started flowing with ice water. "My father told me about that. He... he said that Grindelwald had started working with some Muggle leader on the mainland of Europe, using the Muggles to help wipe out more Muggles... but father said that the plan never got very far." He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. "I never knew... there were so many... eleven _million_?"

He looked over at Harry, who didn't seem to be doing much better. In fact, Harry was a distinct shade of green. "That... was a _wizard_ behind the Holocaust?"

It was all Draco could do to nod.

Harry looked like he was going to cry. Or to be sick. Or maybe both. He swallowed once, and spoke like he couldn't get quite enough air in his lungs. "We need to keep going. We have to get home."

"Yeah."

"I remember Professor Binns saying in History of Magic... the one thing I _do_ remember from that class... mostly because I heard Voldemort's name and I woke up... is that Voldemort is worse than Grindelwald. If anything is worse than causing the deaths of over eleven million people, _and_ causing the largest war the world has ever known... Draco, we can't let him win. My god... we have to stop him."

Draco had never heard Harry speak with such fervour before. It was as if the scale of the fight had just taken on entirely new proportions. Even Draco couldn't ignore it. It had never really occurred to him how much bloodshed there could really be. _Eleven million_. All he'd ever personally wanted was to keep the Mudbloods out of Hogwarts, and not to be bested by one of them. It had never occurred to him just how serious this was. Suddenly, thinking about that much bloodshed, the purity of the blood in question didn't seem so important anymore. Draco steeled his resolve. "We will, Harry. We will."

*********

They walked in silence through the remains of the village. Occasionally, they could see where there had once been roads, including some cobblestone pathways that had not been completely consumed by time and nature, one of which they began following through the town. Fields had mostly long ago become forest, but could be distinguished by the stone walls criss-crossing the land. The rims of wells still dotted the village here and there, but they were filled with dead leaves and thick foliage. And of course there were the foundations of old houses and cottages. Everything else was gone. In the lengthening shadows of the evening, it looked dead; the dry skeleton of a town. And in light of their discussion only a short while ago, it gave Draco a severe case of the creeps.

"I'll be glad when we get through here," Draco said, as much to himself as to Harry. "It's a bit eerie."

"I know what you mean," Harry said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Feels like a graveyard."

Harry made a noise in his throat, but didn't actually say anything. Draco grimaced, and looked down, deciding to keep his eyes on the path at his feet; it was better than looking around. Still, even the silence of the dead village was oppressive, and Harry wasn't helping. They just needed to get beyond the edge of the old village and back into the regular forest to resume their search. In the meantime, Draco couldn't shake the feel that the relics of the Muggle settlement were ancient gravestones, marking the ghosts of the past.

"Shit," Harry breathed.

Draco's head snapped up. "What?" He looked around nervously as his hazy fears of the ghostly village solidified in his stomach. There was no sign of anything out of place; no immediate threats. He glanced at his companion. "Harry?"

Harry was staring straight ahead, eyes wide, looking as if he'd just seen Voldemort himself. He didn't say anything, but merely pointed. Draco followed the line of his finger. At first, he didn't see anything. Then he saw the characteristic arch shape of an old-fashioned gravestone. It was an old Muggle graveyard. And growing around the edges of the graveyard –

"Yew trees!" Draco exclaimed. Forgetting everything else, he hurried forward as fast as his ankle would allow. He reached the edge of the graveyard quickly and went straight to the nearest tree. They were large and disgustingly overgrown, but the species was unmistakable. Draco was taking his dagger from his belt to remove a bough when he noticed that Harry wasn't there. He looked back over his shoulder. "Harry?"

Harry was standing back on the path, looking pale, almost haunted. He hadn't moved from where he'd stood when he'd pointed to the graveyard.

"Harry, are you coming?"

Harry gave a stiff nod and began walking towards Draco. Satisfied that Harry had got over whatever was bothering him, Draco turned back to the task of cutting through the stringy wood. Perhaps Harry was just stunned to have run across the second to last ingredient so suddenly. It was a surprise, but certainly nothing to be upset about.

The crunch of dead leaves behind him assured Draco that Harry had caught up. A few seconds later, however, Draco heard a muffled gasp. He abandoned the branch, turned, and saw a very disconcerting sight.

Harry was leaning heavily on a gravestone, his back towards Draco. His shoulders were rising and falling rapidly with shallow breaths, and it looked like his knees were going to buckle.

The yew branch all but forgotten, Draco stumbled over to Harry. He was about to grab Harry by the shoulder, but stopped just short. He chewed his lower lip for a moment, deliberating. "Harry?"

Harry shook his head.

Worry got the better of Draco's discretion, and he walked around behind the gravestone so he could see Harry's face. Harry's face was still pale, and his eyes were unfocused, as though he was seeing something far away, or, as Draco suspected, long ago.

"What is it, Harry?"

"I... mentioned it to you once," Harry said breathlessly. "Although I didn't go into it much. Not something I ever wanted to talk about."

"I don't know what you're talking about. What did you tell me?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it." He sounded even more agitated.

"Tell me?" Draco said as gently as he could. "Please?"

Harry shook his head again. "I just want to get out of here. Get the yew, and let's get out of here. I really need to get out of here."

Feeling uneasy about Harry's staunch silence, both for Harry's sake, and for his own damnable curiosity, Draco started to step away, but he hesitated. "Harry –"

" _Please_ , Draco. NOW!"

"Okay, I'm going!" Draco replied, not having any inclination to argue. "Just let me finish cutting that branch. It'll only take a moment."

Harry nodded, and stood his ground, although every line of his posture clearly displayed how ready he was to run. Draco frowned at the sight, but turned to the tree and finished his task without a word. Finally, with the branch tucked neatly into the travel sack, he followed Harry out of the graveyard, and into the lengthening shadows of the evening.

*********

With the tent set up, and supper eaten, there was nothing left to do but to go to sleep. However, it was plainly obvious that neither of them was going to fall asleep anytime soon, especially Harry. He'd barely touched his sandwich; only with significant prompting was Draco able to get him to eat anything at all. He kept picking up twigs and snapping them into tiny sections until Draco demanded he stop that maddening behaviour. Without any other acknowledgement, he tossed aside the twig he was currently demolishing, and pulled out his wand. Draco watched him for ten minutes as he stared into the purple flames of a low-light fire while he twisted the handle of his wand between his fingers.

"Planning to hex me?" Draco asked ruefully.

"Huh?" Harry looked up, blinking, as though he'd just been awoken.

Draco snorted in amusement and ripped up a few blades of grass. He began tossing the bits of grass into the fire, one by one. With each piece, the fire turned briefly from dark purple to dark green, then back again. "I was just trying to get your attention."

"Oh. Well, you could have just said, 'Hey, Harry, can I talk to you?'"

Draco smiled tiredly and shifted his seat. "Yeah, but that was more amusing. Are you going to tell me why you've got your wand out like you're expecting a fight at any moment?"

Harry gave a half-hearted shrug. "Just holding it."

"Ah," said Draco, intentionally sounding unconvinced.

Harry said nothing, and finally, he decided it was best to simply broach the topic directly. "So, are you going to tell me what happened back there?"

"Back where?" Harry said defensively.

His tone made it obvious that he knew exactly what Draco was referring to, which only irritated Draco further. "Don't make me spell it out. The graveyard. Your little breakdown there. What was going on?"

"I've already told you as much about it as I want to."

"You didn't tell me anything!"

Harry frowned at him. "I did, back while we were in the dungeon... about that scar on my arm. The one that Wormtail left, when he took my blood... to bring back Voldemort."

That only confused Draco more. "But why would that bother you now?"

For a long moment, Harry sat silent. "It happened in a graveyard," he finally said. "Just like that one – old, overgrown, weather-worn headstones, yew trees. It… really made me uncomfortable."

Understanding dawned on Draco. "Oh."

"I couldn't believe it bothered me so much."

"It's understandable," Draco said. "Besides, you're already exhausted and stressed... things would be _more_ likely to bother you now. It's okay."

"No, no, it's not. It happened over a year ago. Should be fine now." Harry shook his head as if trying to clear it, and fell silent again.

Draco looked on Harry sadly, deliberating on whether he should let Harry keep his silence, or try to dig the information out of him. He decided on the middle path. "If you want to tell me about it, I'll listen."

For a long moment, Harry looked much the same as if he were trying to resist the Imperius Curse. Finally, without making eye contact, he spoke.

"The Portkey dropped Cedric and me in the middle of an old graveyard, and suddenly, my scar started burning as bad as it ever had. I couldn't see, I could barely function. That's when Wormtail killed Cedric. Then he... he..." Harry's voice trailed off.

There was so much pain in Harry's voice; each word sounded like it was being dragged out of him forcibly, but Draco wanted to hear it, as much as he knew that Harry needed to say it. "What happened, Harry?"

"It hurt so much, I couldn't even think straight. I didn't even try to fight back as Wormtail dragged me over to the gravestone and tied me to it. He gagged me – I couldn't even scream, for all the good it would have done. Then... he set up the cauldron and began this ritual. Bone fragments from Voldemort's father's grave. Then Wormtail... ugh, this almost made me gag... he cut off his own hand. I closed my eyes, but I knew what had happened. He screamed when he did it. And then he came for me."

"That's when he took your blood, isn't it?" A deep shudder ran through Harry in affirmation, and Draco winced in sympathy.

"I couldn't move; I couldn't fight." Harry sounded detached, his voice flat, like he was reading the words off a parchment. "I couldn't do a damn thing to stop him. I was helpless. And when Voldemort emerged from the cauldron... the Death Eaters arrived. He used the Cruciatus Curse on me in front of them, while I was tied up. Nothing I could do. Nothing. I wanted to fight him... and I got my wish. He had them untie me... and he gave me my wand back... and asked if I'd been taught to duel. And we duelled."

Harry's voice finally broke off, and the only sound in the campsite was Harry's shallow breathing and the rustle of leaves. Draco didn't need to ask any more questions. He finally understood. For a long moment, he sat silent, letting Harry's words sink in, while Harry processed his own thoughts. Finally, Harry coughed once, twice, and his eyes regained focus, as if he'd come back to reality.

"I haven't spoken about this since the night it happened," he said quietly. "I told Sirius, and Dumbledore, right after it happened... but everything was a blur just then. I'd duelled with Voldemort, I'd seen echoes of the people he'd killed, including my parents, and I barely escaped. I've tried to forget about it all this time, but I couldn't." He looked up at Draco, his face pale in the firelight. "I'm sorry."

Draco furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Sorry for what?"

"For breaking down. Back there, in the graveyard. I'd... sworn that I would never say so much about that again." Harry took a deep breath. "I didn't want to ever mention it to anyone. It was so awful."

Deciding that he could touch Harry now, Draco reached over and laid a hand tentatively on Harry's shoulder. "You needed to do that."

Harry looked confused for a moment, and then it appeared he was going to argue, but he finally let his head drop. "Yeah," he said, although he didn't quite seem to mean it.

Draco looked at Harry sadly, seeing the exhaustion in his shoulders, the guilt, anger, and sorrow evident in his face. Harry wasn't ready to let it go. Perhaps he wasn't supposed to let it go; those emotions might be one more element driving him in his desire to defeat Voldemort. Perhaps that was one more element in the fate assigned to _Harry Potter_. Draco shuddered at the thought, and for the first time since he'd heard Harry's full name, Draco felt no desire whatsoever to trade roles with the Boy Who Lived. No amount of fame or notoriety was worth all this.

In a flash, Draco found himself wanting to reach out and wrap Harry in his arms, as if by willpower alone, he could protect Harry from his fate. As quickly as that thought entered his head, however, he squashed it. If Harry was going to be able to stand against the Dark Lord, he needed the strength to stand on his own two feet, not the coddling that would encourage weakness.

 _That's your father talking_ , a little voice reminded him. "You can't fight everything," Draco said gently.

"I think I'd like a fight though," Harry said. There was an angry edge to his voice suddenly. "Better than all this waiting."

"Well..." Draco ventured slowly, "I'd offer to wrestle, but I don't think my ankle would accommodate that sort of activity."

Harry blinked again, although this time, his expression was different. "That doesn't seem like the dignified sort of thing I'd expect to see you doing."

Draco felt a flush of heat rising to his cheeks. "I've actually never done something like that before. It was too 'crude' an activity... although Vince and Gregory used to do it. Honestly, it looked like fun. The closest I ever got was that fistfight with you... and fun had nothing to do with that."

Harry had been starting to smile, but his face quickly fell neutral again after that reminder. "You know what I'm talking about. I just feel like I'm not doing anything."

"You are. Harry, we only have one more ingredient to collect, and then the brewing of the potion takes about two and a half hours. In the meantime, the best thing you – and I – can do is to rest."

"You don't look like you're getting ready to sleep either," Harry snapped.

Suppressing a groan, Draco tipped his head back. "Probably because you've got enough jitters to keep us _both_ awake."

"I don't think so," Harry said flatly, but not as sharply as before. "You've got your own worries."

As simply as that, Draco felt like the spotlight had been turned on him, and he could feel himself shrinking back against the tree trunk behind him. "I'm not worried about the potion," he said with as much conviction as he could muster.

Harry shook his head. "You're worried about that, _and_ you're worried about what will happen when we get back. I told you, it'll be okay."

"And –"

"Your parents," Harry said, his voice suddenly gentle. "I know. Draco... what if I promised it would all be okay?"

"How can you promise –" Draco started to protest, but then something in Harry's tone stopped him from objecting further. "What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

"I mean... I've just got this feeling... like if we get back to Hogwarts... everything will be okay. I'm sure of it."

"Don't try to fool me. I know you suck at Divination, Potter."

Harry only smiled. "This isn't Divination. I've just got a feeling. Like instinct."

"Really." Draco's mouth suddenly felt dry. "Well, Potter, tell me about this 'feeling' of yours," he drawled, trying to sound sarcastic. "What does your instinct tell you?"

The smile faded from Harry's face to a careful mask of indifference. "Well," he said slowly, "My instinct told me that we were going to escape from Voldemort."

 _Liar_ , Draco wanted to say, but he didn't. Maybe Harry _had_ felt like they'd get out, somehow. It could be true. At least, Draco _wanted_ to believe that Harry had known. He tipped his head slightly, indicating for Harry to continue.

"My instinct told me that we were going to outrun the Death Eaters."

This time, Draco nodded.

"I knew the snakebite antidote was going to work."

"True..."

Harry leaned forward a bit, purple shadows from the fire playing around the contours of his face. "I know we're going to get the last ingredient. I know the potion is going to work."

"Yes," Draco whispered, so softly, he wasn't sure if Harry heard him.

Harry must have heard, because he actually came forward to kneel next to Draco, making eye contact through the darkness. "I know we're going to get home alive. And I _know_ everything is going to be okay."

Something in the way Harry had said it didn't allow for argument, although Draco's heart was beating a bit faster than usual. Before the words even registered, he'd said aloud, "I believe you. But... why? How can you be so sure?"

Finally, Harry smiled again. "Because I trust you, and _I_ believe _you_. You said it would all work out, right? So I'm just returning the advice. And you mean enough to me that I'm gonna be _damn_ sure everything will be okay when we get home. I'm not going to _let_ it be any other way." He laughed, but it sounded a bit uneasy. "I hope I don't need to clarify that, you prat."

It took Draco a moment to realize that he wasn't quite breathing. He shuddered, coughed. "I think we both need to get some sleep," he said.

Harry sat back, and nodded. "I know. I just can't."

"I could give you a sleeping charm, if you want."

Harry suddenly looked wary. "I don't want to be charmed to sleep, and unable to wake up if something happens."

Draco shook his head. "It's not like that. It's a sleep-aid charm. It helps you fall asleep by relaxing you, but once you're asleep, the magic itself wears off so you can wake up normally."

"Well, I suppose that wouldn't hurt... I just don't like people casting spells on me that... er... take away some of my control."

Draco nodded. "I can understand that, especially for you. It's a very mild spell. You just feel kinda warm, and relaxed, and it just helps you fall asleep when you want to. It doesn't make you feel like you're not yourself or anything."

Harry still looked uncertain. "I don't know..."

"You _need_ some sleep, Harry."

"So do you," Harry bit back, sounding defensive.

"I promise, I'll go to sleep as soon as you're snoring."

Harry scowled. "I don't snore."

At that, Draco laughed. "You do when you're sleeping on your back."

"Well then," Harry said, sounding distinctly offended, "I'll be sure to sleep on my back, just to keep you awake."

"So does that mean you'll let me use the charm?"

For a moment, it looked like Harry was going to refuse, but then, with the scowl still firmly affixed on his face, he grabbed the cloak, wrapped it around his shoulders, crawled into the tent, and flopped down on his side. "Fine, go ahead. Be my guest."

Laughing softly, Draco pulled out his wand. "If I charm you with your face twisted up like that, it might stick that way."

The scowl melted into a look of apprehension. "It wouldn't!"

"No, it wouldn't. But your reaction was worth the threat. Now, just relax." He aimed his wand at Harry's forehead, who flinched, and muttered, " _Sommeilis._ " The effect was immediate. He could see the tension in Harry's face and posture drain away. A moment later, a yawn split Harry's face.

"Mmm, you're right," Harry muttered. "'s feels pretty good. Kinda warm and fuzzy."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I think an 'I told you so' is in order."

"No need to get like that," Harry said, sounding even drowsier. "Told you I trust you. Just... mmm... need a nap."

Draco laughed lightly and pulled the cloak tighter around Harry's shoulders as the other boy snuggled down beneath it. "Thanks, Draco."

"Anytime, Harry. Anytime."

Harry's eyes drifted shut, and the last bits of tension drained away from his body. Draco looked on, feeling protectiveness welling up in his chest, as well as a melancholy sort of worry. He reached over and softly removed Harry's glasses, folded them, and placed them by the opening of the tent. Harry's face looked so innocent while he was asleep, and the image called to mind the first time Draco had seen his face like that: the night he'd captured Harry. He'd taken Harry's glasses, and had dropped Harry on the floor of the cell. By all appearances, he had seemed to be asleep, but in reality, he'd been drugged. The stark contrast between that night, barely three short weeks ago, and now, looking down on the face of a sleeping friend, stirred something in Draco far deeper than protectiveness. There was the guilt over what he'd done, but it was far overshadowed by something he couldn't quite name. Whatever it was, it ran thick and hot.

In an attempt to distract himself from the odd sensation working its way through his chest, Draco reached into the front pouch of the sack and rummaged around. He was finally rewarded by the feel of a small, furry object between his fingers. He pulled it out, placed it in the palm of his hand, aimed his wand, and removed the Shrinking Charm from the object. A second later, a hideously ugly teddy bear was precariously balanced in his hand. Smiling, he reached over to the cloak, lifted it, and gently tucked the teddy bear under Harry's arm. To Draco's pleasure, Harry pulled the teddy tighter against himself.

Draco was just sitting back against the tree again when Harry mumbled aloud, "Thanks, Draco. Th's nice."

"You're welcome," Draco replied, feeling the hot sensation grow even stronger. "Goodnight, Harry."

"G'night, Draco. Mmm... love you."

In a split second, Draco felt every nerve in his body jolt. Harry _hadn't_ just said that. It was a trick of Draco's over-exhausted imagination. Or maybe Harry had just been so far gone, so close to sleep, that he'd muttered whatever had come to mind.

He stared at Harry, who was already snoring softly. That was it. Harry was already fast asleep, and was probably talking in his sleep. Maybe he was even dreaming of when he was a child, and in his dream, his mum was giving him a teddy bear before bed, and he was telling his mum he loved her.

 _But he said my name_.

While Draco was rapidly going through every excuse why Harry couldn't possibly have said... what Draco _thought_ he'd said... it dawned on Draco that the comment really didn't bother him. Not at all. It actually stirred in him the same odd, warm feeling that had been plaguing him lately whenever he let himself think about Harry too much. It was a feeling that he hadn't wanted to put to words. Giving it voice would make it all too real, too undeniable. Hearing Harry say it was close enough. That was if Harry _had_ said that. Which he hadn't. But if he had…

 _Well, I guess Harry finally_ did _manage to surprise me after all._

Feeling very uncomfortable, yet still strangely warm, Draco finally forced himself to sit back, and distracted himself by working on his nightly healing charms on his ankle. They didn't fix the damage, but they kept the pain and swelling down enough for him to hobble on it. With that done, he re-cast the splint-charm, and was left with nothing to do but to think.

Sure, he'd promised Harry he would go to sleep, but now – especially now – he just couldn't. So many things were bouncing around in his head. So many things had changed in the past three weeks, and they kept changing by the minute, it seemed. He was so far out of his usual frame of reference that there was no way he could possibly make sense of it all. And then, what Harry had said... Draco didn't know what to make of it. He wasn't even sure if Harry would remember in the morning. Just like he couldn't be sure of the fate of his parents, the effectiveness of his plan, or his own safety. The one thing he _could_ be sure of was that he was in deep. _Very_ deep.

But then, he'd been in over his head since the moment he'd taken on the task of abducting Harry. Still deeper since the second he'd stabbed Harry. And practically drowning since the moment he'd taken Harry from the cell.

Feeling a bit dizzy from everything spinning in his head, and the heat that still hadn't faded from his chest, he leaned his head back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes. Maybe he'd just fall asleep like that. Just drift off, and let all his turmoil wait until morning when he could deal with it.

He was just starting to feel himself relax a bit when the snap of a nearby branch jolted him fully awake. He hadn't even fully opened his eyes before he grabbed his wand and aimed it. " _Don't move or I'll kill you,_ " he snarled at the source of the movement.

A second later, his eyes focused on the face of the man standing there, only feet away from him. He was unshaven and unkempt, looking far more rodent-like than Draco remembered from the last time he had seen the man in human form. _Wormtail._

"You _have_ been following us!" Draco snarled, scrambling painfully to his feet, keeping his wand aimed level at the Death Eater.

"Shh," said the older man, looking flustered as usual, but keeping his voice quiet. "Unless you w-want to wake up your exhausted friend there. I h-hadn't intended to wake him."

Not quite knowing why he'd go along with it, Draco lowered his voice, but not his wand. "Oh, because he'd kill you faster than I would?"

"P-Potter let me go last time...as he told you. And if you remember, y-you let me go too."

The reminder hit Draco unexpectedly, even though he'd known it all along. He kept his eyes carefully narrowed, but he couldn't keep all the surprise from his voice. "That _was_ you – helping with the rope at the cave-in. Wasn't it?"

Wormtail gave a halting nod. "I have a life debt to fulfil."

This time, Draco's eyes widened. "Harry said that. I... didn't quite believe him."

"Potter d-doesn't quite understand the strength of the d-debt. I have to."

This was something Draco could understand. Nobody could live with an unfulfilled life debt – not without going completely mad. To let one's charge die, when the debt-holder might be able to prevent it, could even result in the death of the debt-holder. So it was true: Wormtail was following to make sure that Harry survived, otherwise he'd risk insanity or death. But that didn't mean he had any sort of reason to keep Draco alive. Draco's guard, which had dropped by a fraction, snapped back up.

"What do you want now?" Draco growled, low and angry. He still had his wand aimed directly at the Death Eater's heart.

"I – I meant to talk to you."

"I have nothing to say to you. I don't trust you. You may have a life debt to Harry, but if you get the chance, you'll turn me in. You'll gain all your power and glory and all that shit with the Dark Lord."

"The D-Dark Lord would k-kill me, even if I brought you back."

"Oh, so then you're just here to kill me and be done with it?"

If anything, Wormtail looked irritated. "In c-case you hadn't noticed... I'm unarmed." He held out his hands, showing them empty. "I've not come here to t-turn you in to the Dark Lord, or to kill you. If I had p-planned to do that, I could have at any time."

Draco deliberated on this as his fingers milked the handle of his wand tensely. "Then why didn't you? Aside from your damned life debt? Why didn't you turn me in? I'm sure you could have done something to make your story look good to your dear old boss; some excuse why you were showing up with me and not Harry."

Wormtail was warily eyeing the tip of Draco's wand, his face twitching in nervous spasms. Draco frowned.

"Well?"

"I did not b-bring you back," he said slowly, "because I knew you were the best chance Potter had."

The impact of those words was not lost on Draco, who felt his grip on his wand slacken. "What do you mean?"

Wormtail actually rolled his eyes at that. "Stupid boy! Do you honestly think that either of you c-could have survived this journey alone? I have interfered as little as possible, but how many times have you and P-Potter saved each other's lives?"

Draco was still so busy digesting this that he didn't even react as Wormtail laughed at him quietly and sat down by the fire. This was unbelievable. He had Harry sleeping soundly, and not ten feet away, one of the most notorious – if bumbling – Death Eaters was sitting back, warming his toes by the campfire. Draco shook his head to himself. Unbelievable.

Not altogether sure that this was the best idea, Draco slowly lowered himself and sat down, never taking his wand off the rat-faced little man sitting across from him. "So, you came to talk. Talk."

"D-do you know why I joined the Death Eaters, Malfoy?"

"I wouldn't say I've been graced by the tale," Draco drawled sarcastically. "Is this my bedtime story?"

"Boy, I'm trying to tell you something useful."

Draco, trying not to look either too interested, or disinterested, simply inclined his head. Wormtail huffed indignantly, but he settled in.

"James P-Potter, Harry's father, used to be my best f-friend. The Dark Lord discovered this while he was trying to track down the Potters. He offered me reward, beyond my wildest dreams, if I helped him – and d-death if I refused."

The Death Eater gave a tentative pause, and Draco motioned for him to continue with a flick of his wand. He was pleased to see Wormtail flinch at the gesture.

"I cared about James. Very much. I was... enamoured with him. I should have known anyway. I was not good enough for James. Not _female_ enough either. I was upset when he began to court Lily, and when they m-married, I became resentful." He laughed bitterly. "I had always been the last of our small circle of friends. The lowest of us. When Harry was born, it seemed I was all but forgotten. I m-meant to ignore my disappointment, but the Dark Lord... he made it f-feel worse. M-much worse. He can play with your mind. Y-you know that. He made me think that James had r-rejected me out of spite, out of malice. That James had snubbed me. So when he finally c-came to me himself, w-with the ultimatum, I thought I h-hated James."

As shocked as Draco was by Wormtail's words, he was far more shocked by the disgust and remorse dripping from each word. He couldn't say anything, but inclined his head indicating for Wormtail to continue.

"I... I was scared. Death Eaters had been c-coming to me for weeks, bringing threats and offers from the D-Dark Lord. Each threat became more deadly. F-finally, I blamed James for all my misery. H-he was the reason the Dark Lord was after me. He was the one who had rejected me. And s-so... I gave him to the Dark Lord."

It almost looked like Wormtail, right-hand slave-boy to Lord Voldemort, was going to cry. Draco didn't know if he felt sympathy or nausea at the sight.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I... there's more." Wormtail wrung his hands so tightly, Draco was sure his normal hand would be crushed by his odd silver one. "I encountered Potter here t-two and a half years ago. And his godfather."

"Sirius Black," Draco said softly.

"So he told you."

Draco nodded.

"Sirius and Remus were my other friends. Were. They confronted me. Almost killed me. S-Sirius should have. He w-was right."

"Right about what?" Draco asked. His curiosity was getting the better of his vigilance, and he knew it.

Wormtail sighed. "He said I should have d-died, rather than betray James. And I should have. Oh, I should have. I should have died for him."

Draco looked on at Wormtail and swallowed. His throat was suddenly feeling dry and sticky. "What's this all got to do with me? Why are you telling me this?"

"You're a b-better man than me, Draco. You didn't let the Dark Lord intimidate you."

That statement struck Draco with such incredulity that he actually choked out a short laugh. "Why do you think I left, you oaf? I left because I was scared!"

To Draco's amazement, Wormtail actually shook his head. "If you'd only b-been scared, you would have stayed, boy. Mark my words."

"Then...?" Draco frowned in confusion.

"You left for other reasons, too." He inclined his head towards Harry's sleeping form. "You care about him."

Draco's first instinct was denial. "Not when I left!"

"You left _with_ him, boy. Running scared, you w-would have just run. Without _him_ to slow you down. Can you deny it? Can you?"

Draco wanted to say something. He did. He wanted to be right. But he had no argument that might hold water. So he said nothing.

There was no triumph in Wormtail's expression; just a sad acknowledgement. "I lost James, and my other f-friends, because of my own cowardice."

"I'm _not_ a coward!" Draco hissed. "And I'm not going to lose Harry!"

This time, a hint of a smile played across Wormtail's face. "I never said you were, boy."

"Then why all this? Why the story? What's this all about?"

Wormtail shrugged. "I... guess I j-just wanted to make sure you don't let something g-good slip through your fingers like I did."

Draco's stomach jumped. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Wormtail laughed. Not a pleasant sound, but he was definitely amused. "Oh yes, you do, boy. Yes, you do."

Suddenly, the man lurched to his feet. In an instant, Draco's wand was again trained on the Death Eater's heart.

Wormtail laughed again. "Still so d-defensive, Malfoy? Well, I suppose it's a good trait." He sighed, and looked down at Harry, then back at Draco. "You know how you feel about him. You don't need me to point it out. But, I've g-got one question for you, and w-when you answer yourself this, you'll know what to do."

"What's that?" Draco asked in a whisper.

"Would you die for him?"

Before Draco could react, he was watching the back end of a scruffy rat disappear into the shadows of the night.

Feeling extremely disturbed, Draco pulled himself to his feet. His hand was still clenched tightly around his wand, and he was shaking. Shaking, sweating, breathing rapidly. He'd let a Death Eater into his encampment. He'd sat and talked with that Death Eater. And he'd let him go. _Again_.

And even more stunning, Harry had slept through the whole thing. Draco briefly wondered at how exhausted Harry must have really been – a thought that was accompanied by a familiar upwelling of protectiveness. Which clearly brought back Wormtail's words. _You care for him. Make sure you don't let something good slip through your fingers._ And, most disturbing, _Would you die for him?_

Draco finally let himself consider that question. He'd sworn to himself, _Whatever it takes._ Did he mean that? Did he _really_ mean that?

After pacing around the fire for a minute, Draco stopped in front of the tent, then carefully knelt down by Harry's head. Harry was lying on his stomach, with his head cradled in his folded arms. In the darkness, Draco could barely make out the rise and fall of his back as he breathed. He looked so peaceful, so content. For the moment, he was completely oblivious to the danger, and to the clock running out.

Draco reached to slip his wand into his pocket, and came out with his counting stick. There were thirteen notches now. Feeling a strong sense of finality, Draco removed his dagger from his belt and dug the knife into the wood. Then he reversed the blade to make the back-cut, but as he pressed the knife down, it slipped and nicked his thumb.

It didn't hurt, but Draco pulled his hand back with a hiss of surprise, then held up his thumb to survey the damage.

The cut wasn't deep. A single drop of blood was trailing down the side of the digit. In the unnatural firelight, it looked black. An odd thought crossed his mind.

_Maybe it's not the blood that causes the magic, but the magic that gives the blood the illusion of supernatural power._

He cocked his head at the thought, not really sure if it made sense. Not that the mysteries of the universe had much bearing on his situation. He had more immediate things with which to concern himself. He looked past his bleeding thumb to Harry. Yes, he had more immediate things to worry about. More important things.

_Would you die for him?_

With a sigh, Draco pulled out his wand and quickly healed the cut. He tucked his wand back into his pocket alongside the counting stick, and sheathed his dagger. Then, after a long moment of deliberation, he reached out and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry mumbled in his sleep and looked up through bleary eyes. "Is it morning?"

Draco couldn't help but smile. "No. I'm just coming to sleep."

"Ah, m'k". He shifted beneath the cloak and held up the edge of it. "C'mon then."

Draco hesitated for a moment at the invitation, noting the ease with which Harry accepted his presence. _It's the after-effects of the sleeping charm_ , Draco told himself, but then logic reminded him that the charm should have worn off the instant Harry fell asleep. _Maybe he really is just that exhausted. And so am I._

Too tired to think about it any longer, Draco finally crawled beneath the cloak. Feeling the warmth of Harry's body next to his own, Draco quickly fell asleep.

*********

That night, Draco dreamed. At first, he feared he'd been pulled into another vision, almost as if he couldn't remember what an actual dream felt like, but there was no penetrating darkness in this place, no rumbling voice in his head. For a long time, there was nothing but disjointed images and vague impressions. Forest trails, the foundations of ancient Muggle houses, the graveyard. Rocky hillsides and muddy streams. For a long time, Draco ran through his dream, feeling like he was searching desperately for something, but never quite finding it. He had no idea what he was searching for, but it was as though his very life depended on finding it. He came to a bend in the trail. _This is it! Right around this corner!_ But as he turned the corner the dream shifted.

He was no longer in the forest, but in a well-furnished room that he recognized all too well, and an even more familiar face. He saw his mother was sitting in her favourite armchair in the parlour back home. She looked like she hadn't slept for days, and her eyes were red. In her hands, she twisted a handkerchief. She wasn't looking at him, but she was talking, and Draco thought she might have been talking to him.

 _Why did you go?_ Her voice was strained and tight. _Oh, my Draco, I told you not to go! I would have been proud enough! Lucius, this is your fault! You let him start this damned mission of his, and now look! Just look! Oh, Draco!_ She collapsed into sobs, and Draco had to look away.

His mother was seldom emotional. Draco had only seen her lose control like this twice, one of those times being the day he'd first begged his father to let him catch Harry – she'd nearly refused to speak to him since then – and this was just too much. It had to be his mind playing tricks on him in his dreams. He turned in place to survey the room.

On the other side of the room, his father was standing, leaning against the mantle. The proud, strong features, still traced with faint lines of stress and exhaustion from his brief stay in Azkaban. He was frowning, scowling. _Draco begged me to let him do it, and the Dark Lord made the final decision! Not I! He was too weak to follow through, and it is his fault that he –_

 _He's your SON!_ Narcissa screamed back.

_He's no son of mine!_

_You can't mean that!_

Draco shrank back against the wall, trying to stay hidden, but at the same time, he desperately wanted his parents to see him. Maybe they'd welcome him home. Of course they'd welcome him home! They loved him! But just as Draco stepped forward, hoping to catch their attention, the dream shifted again.

He was in a room in Hogwarts he'd only entered once: Dumbledore's office. The old wizard was leaning heavily on his desk, looking older than ever. His desk was strewn with copies of the Daily Prophet, over which had been laid a thick, ancient tome. Dumbledore was staring towards the pages of the book, but he didn't seem to see them; his eyes were unfocused and distant. Draco's heart gave a little leap. If Dumbledore could hear him, or maybe if he could get the old man's attention, he could get help. Draco was so busy wondering how he could get Dumbledore's attention that it took him a moment to realize that he was _in Hogwarts_.

Without any further thought to Dumbledore, he turned and ran out of the office, down corridor after corridor, trying to find his dormitory. He was so tired. Why couldn't he sleep in his own bed? He could finally rest! He'd been running for so long.

But he couldn't sleep right now! He had to find Snape! Snape would have found the antidote to the Soul's Eclipse potion! Feeling more determined, Draco ran faster. As he turned the corner towards the dungeons, he was suddenly no longer in Hogwarts, but in the halls of Voldemort's fortress. In his path stood the Dark Lord himself, red eyes glittering. He laughed cruelly at Draco, and spoke in a mocking voice, _Would you die for him, fool?_

Draco felt rather than heard himself scream, turned, and ran the other way. Down the stairs to Voldemort's dungeons, through the cold, wet passages Biddy had found. The cave was up ahead. The cave exited to the valley below, and freedom. Freedom! He could escape! He was almost there... and suddenly, he was out in the middle nowhere, at the edge of a clearing in the woods.

It was night time, and the moon was full overhead. Standing before him was Harry, looking distant and fearful, and dreadfully pale in the bright moonlight. Then, Harry gasped and fell to his knees. Draco dropped next to him, holding him. A quick glance up showed a bite had been taken from one side of the moon. In front of him, Harry seemed to be fading. At first, it just seemed that he was becoming more pale, but then, it seemed as though he was becoming translucent, fading from reality. Draco tried to yell to him, but Harry didn't seem to hear. The sky was becoming darker as the moon shrank, and Harry was disappearing with it. Desperate, Draco tried to hold him tighter, but his hands suddenly passed clear through Harry, as though he were little more than a ghost. In a total panic, Draco lunged at Harry, but he fell through empty air.

Draco came awake with a shock, breathing hard, and sat up in a rush as though he'd been slapped. The forest was dim with the cool grey tones of early dawn. Through the tree canopy above, Draco could see that yesterday's clouds were beginning to break apart, and it promised to be a fair day. He reached down and felt the ground beneath him, reassuring himself that it was solid, and he was really awake, even though he still reeling from the emotional turmoil of his dream. For a moment, he didn't move, catching his breath, and trying to shake off the last dregs of sleep.

Finally, beating away the irrational fear that Harry might have actually disappeared, he glanced down at his companion. Beside him, Harry was still fast asleep, snoring softly.

*********

_Night turns to day  
And I still have these questions  
Bridges will break  
Should I go forwards or backwards  
Night turns to day  
And I still get no answers  
Just a whisper  
(~Coldplay)_

 


	17. And Straight On 'Till Morning

_I'm kneeling down with broken prayers  
Hearts and bones from days of youth  
Restless with an angel's wing  
I dig a grave to bury you  
No feet to fall, you need no ground  
Allowed to glide right through the sun  
Release from circles guarded tight  
Now we all are Chosen Ones_

_Secure yourself to Heaven  
Hold on tight, the night has come  
Fasten up your earthly burdens  
You have just begun  
(~Indigo Girls)_

*********

  
Harry awoke slowly from a deep, dreamless sleep. He was so relaxed, so well rested, it was wonderful. He hadn't slept well in months. Or weeks. Or had it been exactly three weeks ago that he'd been taken forcibly from Hogwarts in the middle of the night?

As soon as that thought permeated Harry's sleep-fogged brain, he came awake with a start. He sat up, feeling a surge of panic ripping through him like too much caffeine as realization set in. Today was the last day before the eclipse. One last chance to find the final ingredient. Less than twenty-four hours to live, unless Draco's plan worked.

_Draco_.

Harry looked down; the spot where he thought Draco had been sleeping was empty. He looked around the tent. "Draco?" No response. Harry quickly patted around for his glasses and jammed them on his face. Without a second glance, he bolted through the tent flap. "Draco, where are – Ouch!"

"Well, you found me the quick way," Draco said, rubbing his forehead as he stepped back. "But next time, could we try for a less painful approach?"

Harry stumbled the rest of the way out of the tent, rubbing his own forehead in imitation of Draco. "Sorry," he muttered. "Woke up and you weren't there."

Draco dropped his hand from his face and folded his arms across his chest. He almost looked amused. "I went to the same place I go every morning. To piss. Did you miss me already?"

Harry opened his mouth to make a short reply, but rethought his response quickly. He looked away. "I woke up and realized what day it was. Kinda panicked and wanted someone there."

"Aaaah," Draco said slowly. "I understand. I'm not going anywhere, Harry."

"I know," Harry replied, still not looking at Draco. He turned his attention to the food sack lying on the ground by the tent. "What's new for breakfast?"

"Now look who's being funny," Draco drawled. "But actually, I was digging around in there this morning, just to see what I could find, and I found about two dozen hard-boiled eggs that were hidden beneath that pile of corned beef sandwiches. No wonder we never found them, right?"

Harry stole a quick glance up at Draco; he was smiling. Harry gave a half-hearted grin in return. "Now all we need is some hot buttered toast and tea, right?"

"Buttered toast!" Draco groaned as he sat down. "I can't _wait_ to have some real food again! You're making me hungry! And I already ate!"

Harry snickered, flopped down across from Draco, and started digging into the pack. There was indeed a large pile of eggs nestled where there used to be corned beef sandwiches. "You could always eat something else. Don't you keep saying that we need to keep our strength up?"

Draco looked like he was about to glower, but instead, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "All I want right now is a really strong cup of coffee. Espresso might be nice. I'm so tired."

Harry looked up from the egg he was shelling. "Didn't you use the sleep-aid charm on yourself?"

"It's not that. I just had a really nasty dream. Woke me up early."

"It wasn't another vision from Voldemort, was it?" Harry asked in a rush. "If it was –"

Draco waved his hand dismissively. "I would have told you about something like that immediately. No, it was just a weird, messed-up dream."

Harry waited, half-expecting Draco to launch into a description of the dream, but it appeared that Draco had no such inclination. Shaking his head in resignation, he returned his attention to his egg.

"Harry... do you remember anything after I put the Sleep Aid Charm on you last night?"

Harry frowned at his egg. "Not really. The instant you cast it, I just felt so relaxed. Seeing as we got almost no sleep the night before, it was so easy to just drift off. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering. You were mumbling, but I guess you were just talking in your sleep."

"Oh," Harry said, curious now. "Yeah, I know I talk in my sleep. But usually only when I dream, and I don't remember dreaming last night. What was I saying?"

Draco shook his head before answering. "Nothing important. Just random stuff. I don't really remember what you said anymore."

"Hmm," Harry murmured, knowing there was more to the story. He honestly couldn't remember a damn thing since the moment Draco had cast the charm. While it had been wonderful to be able to drift off to sleep without a care in the world, he hated the idea of not being fully alert and aware of his actions and surroundings. Although he'd never been drunk, he wondered if the charm had some similar side-effects. Under the influence of something that relaxed him so much, he might have said anything. He wasn't so sure he liked that. "Draco, what exactly is that sleep charm supposed to do?"

"I told you before I cast it. It relaxes you, and takes away your worries, just long enough for you to fall asleep. I'd bet some high-strung business wizard's wife invented it."

Harry finished shelling his egg, and took a bite. "How often have you used it on yourself?" he asked around a mouthful.

Draco shrugged. "Probably more than I should have. A lot on nights before Quidditch matches, and then quite often last year. Over this past summer... almost every night."

Harry didn't respond, and quickly stuffed the rest of the egg in his mouth.

Draco shot him a stern look of disapproval. "If you eat like that, you'll choke to death. The last thing we need is –" Suddenly, his eyes widened as he realized what he said. "I'm sorry, Harry. Didn't mean it like that."

Harry was glad he'd already swallowed his egg, or he might have actually choked on it. His nerves were already on edge, causing his stomach to protest even his small breakfast, but the mere mention of death was enough for him to completely lose his appetite. "Have you already eaten?"

"I told you, I did."

"Okay then," Harry said. He stood and wiped his hands on his jeans. "Let's pack up the tent and start moving. I want to find that damned plant before noon, if possible."

"Sounds like a fair plan," Draco said as he hauled himself to his feet, using his cane for leverage. "We can do that. It should be easy to find."

Not trusting his voice, Harry only grunted in reply.

Barely ten minutes later, the site appeared as if nobody had ever been there, and Harry was already looking up at the branches of every tree they passed as they began walking away. If he was lucky, they'd find it before noon. Then, they could find a suitable place to begin making preparations, and have the potion prepared well in advance. But even if they had everything perfectly ready, Harry knew that nothing would reassure him until he saw the sunrise the following morning.

Even as he walked, he could feel his body slowly begin shaking like a wind-tossed husk before an approaching hurricane. His stomach was doing odd flips, and he wanted to run, and keep running until he collapsed of exhaustion and was too tired to think. He could _feel_ time slipping away from him, and the heavy hand of fate was creeping up from behind him, ready to grab him when the time ran out. Maybe if he ran far enough, fast enough, he could outrun the sunset, the moonrise, the eclipse, and time itself.

"What time tonight is the eclipse actually supposed to start?" Harry asked, trying to sound casual, like his life wasn't riding on it.

"I think it's in the wee hours of the morning," came the equally neutral reply. "Starts around 2:00 AM, I think."

"Okay." Harry deliberated for a minute, feeling jitters beginning to creep up his spine. "How long does it take to brew this potion of yours?"

"I told you. About two and a half hours."

"Oh. Okay." His words sounded unnatural to his own ears, flat and lifeless, except for the slight vibration that he couldn't keep out of his voice. It matched the shaking that was working its way down his legs and into his gut.

"Harry, look at me for a moment."

Reluctantly, Harry obeyed. He tried to keep his expression calm and collected, but he could tell by the look on Draco's face that he'd failed miserably.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked.

Harry had to clench his teeth together to keep himself under control. His nerves were beginning to get the better of him, and he could feel his heart beating an uncomfortable rhythm in his chest. He was starting to lose it, he knew, but that would only make things worse. He held his breath for a moment, gathering himself as best he could before he felt he could answer. Still, his voice shook as he spoke. "I think... it's finally hit me. What's going to happen tonight. I knew it would."

Draco considered this for a second, then fixed Harry with a kind but stern stare. "What's going to happen is that we're going to brew a potion, I'm going to take that potion, we're going to sit up late around a campfire telling stories, and in the morning, we'll be able to laugh about how we bested the Dark Lord."

"Easy for you to say," Harry scoffed. Then he saw the stung look on Draco's face. That only made him feel worse, adding guilt to nerves. "That's not how I meant it! Ugh! I just meant that in the morning, no matter what, you'll still be here. I might... I might –"

"Harry," Draco said softly, undercutting Harry's tirade, "if there was any way I could trade places with you, I would."

As soon as those words registered, an image flashed across Harry's mind. He saw Draco, slowly fading out of consciousness as the night sky grew dark. He saw Draco's body, lying still on the ground as the sun rose. And he saw himself, carrying Draco's limp body up the stairs of Hogwarts. The thought almost made him choke. "You can't mean that," Harry said, feeling suddenly angry.

Draco gave a short nod. "I do." He sighed and looked away. "If I fail tonight, I don't know how I'd live with myself. I don't want to be the one left behind. I can't imagine coming back without you, so if I could, I'd rather be the one who doesn't come back."

That was _not_ what Harry wanted to hear. If anything, the mental image he was trying to banish only became clearer. "Don't talk like that," Harry said flatly. "Don't." As much as he didn't want to think about his own possible death, he found that contemplating Draco's death disturbed him far more deeply. It would just be more guilt on his conscience; another life ruined because of him. And it would be Draco's life.

Draco merely shrugged. Harry shook his head in disbelief. At least _one_ of them had to get home alive, and for Draco to say that... it left Harry feeling very uncomfortable.

"Listen, we've already got enough to worry about. _I've_ already got enough to worry about without you acting like a defeatist before we've even start! Haven't you been the one telling _me_ to think positively? And now you're talking about yourself dying, as if that would make me feel better! In case you're wondering, it's not! So even if you want to make yourself miserable, because in some twisted way, it would make you feel better, leave me out of it!"

When Draco didn't react, Harry dropped his forehead into his hand for a moment in resignation, then he cast a sideways glance at Draco. Maybe a different approach. "You're not going to have to 'trade places with me', because this is going to work. And even if it doesn't, I know you're doing everything you can. You can't blame yourself."

"Now _that's_ funny," Draco snapped. His face was twisted with sheer incredulity. "How can I _not_ blame myself? Harry, we're here because of _me._ This _is_ all my fault."

Harry felt something snap in him, and he stopped short. He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut, and made a fist as if he wanted to hit the nearest possible inanimate object. "That's _it_ ," he bit out, "Draco, _I_ don't blame you anymore, so you have no excuse to blame yourself! You already apologized, two weeks ago, and I accepted it! As far as I'm concerned, the person who got us into this mess isn't here anymore, but the person who allowed us to escape _is_."

He opened his eyes to see Draco's eyes peering back into his sadly, and perhaps a bit stunned. "I'm the same person, Harry..."

Like hitting a brick wall, Harry suddenly felt his head of steam go flat. His next retort died on his tongue, and he let himself actually meet Draco's eyes. "Let's drop this. It isn't getting us anywhere. Can we please just live in the present? If... if this doesn't work... I don't have much time left. I'd rather not spend it fighting."

Draco didn't look happy with this, but finally, he said, "We can do that."

It was a small relief, but it helped. Harry nodded, then looked out over Draco's shoulder. "Think we ought to keep looking then?" he asked anxiously.

Draco didn't give an actual reply, but he did turn and begin walking again, scanning the trees for any sign of the silver berries and peculiar foliage of mistletoe. Harry tried to take a deep, calming breath, but only managed a short huff. He gave up on trying to calm down and just began walking after Draco.

In stark contrast to the way Harry felt, the day itself was turning out to be quite beautiful. The sun was warm, the breeze was cool, and the last traces of clouds from the day before were sailing lazily across the blue expanse overhead. He could hear birds chirping merrily, oblivious to the dark nature of the day. Occasionally, a tree branch would bounce and sway with the weight of a squirrel doing acrobatics. The forest was alive, Harry noticed, but the silence between himself and Draco was almost painful. However, there was nothing to say. They already both knew what was at stake.

The forest seemed to grow thicker as the morning went on. Oaks, hickories, and birches reached ever higher, their leaves casting a green-tinted shade to the earth below. However, when Harry looked up, he could see some of the leaves dying with the onset of fall. The idea didn't make him feel any better.

"What's the date today?" Harry asked suddenly.

Beside him, Draco startled at the sudden noise. "It's... the twenty-sixth of September."

"We missed the equinox, didn't we?"

Draco cocked his head. "We didn't _miss_ it. We were out here."

Not that he wanted to talk more, but just having something to say to break the silence felt good. Plus, this was a more neutral topic. "What were we doing the day of the equinox?"

Draco's eyebrows furrowed together in concentration. He held up his hands and deliberately counted on his fingers, occasionally nodding to himself or shaking his head. "Well, it's rather easy to lose track out here, but I think that was the day you... er... fell into that hole."

"Ah," Harry said quietly. The day came back to him in a rush. "That's also the day you went in the river, remember?"

"Oh yeah. Almost forgot, actually."

Harry frowned. "How could you forget that? It was... well... it was a big thing for you, right?"

"Harry, after watching the earth almost eat you alive, and... how do I say this?" Draco almost sounded sad. "Harry, if you had seen yourself when I pulled you out of that hole, trust me, anything else from that day would easily be forgotten."

That comment struck Harry oddly. "I'm sure I've been injured worse. Especially with all the shit I've been through."

Draco blinked once and looked away for a moment. "I never saw you quite so up-close when it happened, you know. And the other times, Madam Pomfrey probably patched you up in a heartbeat."

"I suppose," Harry said. Although he wasn't sure why, he wasn't quite satisfied with Draco's answer. He shook it off and gave the surrounding trees another concentrated scan. "What does mistletoe do in the potion, anyway? Don't think I've ever seen it used in a potion before."

"Oh, mistletoe was used by ancient potions masters as a catalyst, to bring out the magical properties in the other ingredients, and to increase the potency of the potion overall," Draco said quickly.

He sounded much more comfortable being able to just rattle off information, and Harry was inclined to let him.

"Why don't we use it much nowadays?" Harry asked, authentically curious.

"Well that's easy. Mistletoe was more of a crude method, and over time, potions experts have refined other techniques, increased the potency of the actual ingredients, and simply found better ingredients and catalysts. Now, I suppose we mostly just use mistletoe as a Christmas decoration, because it looks rather pretty. I'm not quite sure where the kissing tradition came from."

Harry was nodding casually as he listened, but stopped suddenly. "Wait, I thought you didn't know how Muggles used mistletoe!"

It was Draco's turn to look stunned. " _Muggles_ use the stuff for the same purpose as _wizards_? I thought you were talking about something totally different... you never said _what_ they used it for! I just assumed... it would be something different from... well... from us. How the hell did _they_ learn about that?"

Draco looked positively violated, and Harry had to laugh at him. "Maybe the ties between Muggles and wizards are closer than you think."

Draco quickly scowled at him. "I highly doubt that. But for the sake of argument... whatever. Why didn't you tell me what Muggles use mistletoe for when I asked?"

Suddenly, Harry felt his cheeks go hot. "Er... because you were standing beneath it... and I didn't want to imply... er... oh shit."

Draco's face had gone slightly pink to match, but he also looked highly amused. "Oh my, Harry. Didn't want to have to kiss and tell?"

"I don't think I would be required to... er... given the circumstances... oh hell, it's not Christmas!" By now, Harry was feeling extremely flustered, and silently cursed the ground he was standing on for not having a convenient hole to swallow him up for a moment. "Besides, you're a boy!"

To Harry's amazement, Draco actually preened. "Well, I'm ever so pleased that you noticed. And my eyes are grey, which you also seemed to have noticed."

Harry was now flustered _and_ confused. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Draco's expression softened, and he looked at Harry with a combination of kindness and helplessness. "Our dear, innocent Harry," he said breathily, more to himself than to Harry.

"Huh?"

"I'll explain it to you later."

In an instant, the light-heartedness that Harry had been feeling disappeared, replaced by the harsh awareness of how fast his time was running out. It was like a kick in the stomach, and Draco noticed the change immediately.

"Harry, that's not – oh crap. Harry... I... I can explain it now. If you want me to."

The look in Draco's eyes was something like pity, and it was the last thing Harry wanted. "No, Draco," he said heavily. "I don't. I want to find the mistletoe, chop it up, and toss it in the potion. I want to get home with a pulse. And there are a lot of things I want to do before I die, so let's get back to trying to delay my premature demise, okay?"

"Oh," Draco said. To Harry's surprise, he looked distinctly dejected.

Harry grimaced. "You can tell me... whatever you want to tell me... after we find the mistletoe, okay?"

"Okay," Draco said in a low tone. "But there's one thing you have to know."

"What's that?"

"You don't 'chop up' the mistletoe for this potion. You remove the berries, and pulverize them separately from the leaves using a mortar and pestle."

At that, Harry snorted. "Okay, okay. Show-off."

Draco gave a half grin. "And look who's calling the cauldron black."

Harry could only roll his eyes. "Okay! You win!"

Draco sniffed. "I ought to hear that phrase more often. 'Draco, you win. Draco, you're right. Draco, your brilliance and sheer magnificence outshine the sun itself.'"

Harry shook his head to himself, unable to completely stop himself from grinning. Only Draco would say something like that. In fact, it was one of his quirks that Harry had grown to appreciate… in a strange, exasperating sort of way.

He was mentally settling back into his search when Draco cleared his throat conspicuously. Harry spared him a sideways glance. "Yes?"

"You said... er... damn, I don't want this to come out the wrong way."

"Well, it already has, so you might as well say it straight out."

"Thanks, Potter," he drawled sarcastically, but before Harry could rattle off a retort, Draco sighed and dropped his head. "You said... that there were a lot of things you wanted to do... well... you know. I kinda wanted to know... what are some things you've always wanted to do, but have never done?"

That definitely took Harry off-guard. He really hadn't thought about it. Considering that the plan might not work, he supposed it might be a little bit late to start worrying about it, but now that Draco had mentioned it, he couldn't get the idea out of his head. All the things he'd ever wanted to do, and he might never have the chance. It wasn't fair! Why did everything have to be so unfair!

Harry didn't notice that he had clenched his fists until he felt Draco's hand touch his softly.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Draco said hesitantly. "I just wanted... oh hell. I'm sorry I asked."

With some effort, Harry unclenched his fists. "Well," he said slowly, "I'd always wanted to go camping..."

For a moment, Draco stared at him blankly. Then, exasperation slowly overtook his features. "What am I going to do with you?" he said, shaking his head.

"Well," Harry said, suddenly feeling devious, "you could show me what to do with the mistletoe when we find it."

Draco's jaw fell slack, and he had the most peculiar expression. Harry wondered if his brain was somehow short-circuiting at the possible double meaning. He waved a hand in front of Draco's glazed eyes. "Draco? Hey, you in there? Ground control to Draco. Come in, Draco..."

Slowly, Draco's eyes came into focus, somewhere off over Harry's shoulder. "Mistletoe..."

Harry snickered. "Yes, Draco, you can show me what to –"

"No, Harry!" Draco cried, suddenly pointing over Harry's shoulder, practically bouncing in excitement on his one good leg. "The mistletoe! Look!"

Harry spun around. Ahead of them was an enormous beech tree, standing at the edge of a broad clearing. At first, Harry didn't see the mistletoe, but he followed the line of Draco's finger... and there it was. Nestled on a branch at least twenty feet off the ground, was the unmistakable foliage and berries of mistletoe. In an instant, everything else was forgotten. "You found it!" Harry exclaimed. "Merlin, thank goodness! Draco, I could kiss you right now!" He reached into his pocket and grabbed his wand.

He was aiming it at the largest clump of mistletoe, and was about to mutter a quick _Accio!_ when Draco's hand came down on his in a rush.

"Don't use magic!"

"Wha-what?" Harry stammered, taken aback by the sudden command. "Why not?"

Draco was shaking his head and muttering to himself. Harry could make out the words "idiot", "ruin everything", and "didn't listen to Snape." Before Harry could become too irritated, Draco looked him squarely in the eye and said, "Did it ever occur to you _why_ we were never allowed to use wands in the preparation of any potions ingredient, with only a few _specific_ exceptions?"

"Er... actually... well... no."

To Harry's gratitude, Draco didn't look _too_ smug over this. "The use of magic, _any_ magic, on an object leaves a trace effect. For normal stuff, it wouldn't matter... but for potions... even the slightest shift in the magical properties can completely alter the outcome of a potion. That's why everything in that class was 'chop, peel, slice, and dice' by hand."

"So, even a simple summoning charm..." Harry said slowly.

"Exactly. It _might_ not ruin it... but are you willing to stake your life on it?"

Harry flinched. "Well, seeing as you put it that way... how the hell am I supposed to get it?" He knew the answer before it even came.

"What? Don't tell me you've never climbed a tree before!"

"I know that... yes, I've climbed trees, wise-arse," Harry grumbled as he turned and stalked to the base of the tree trunk. "And of course, you can't, so I suppose I've got to do it."

"I'll catch you if you fall," Draco said lightly.

Harry shot a glare at him. "Thanks, Draco."

"Anytime."

Harry shook his head and turned back to the problem at hand. He'd meant to simply begin climbing when he realized there were no close footholds. In fact, the tree was a lot larger than it had appeared from a distance, and the lowest branch was well over the top of his head. It was also too thick to grip easily, even if he jumped and tried to swing up. "Er..." He glanced back over his shoulder. "Do you see any good handholds or footholds from there?"

"Actually... hmm. No, not really."

Harry took a step back and surveyed the problem. Like any beech tree, it had smooth bark, so getting a grip on the trunk itself was out of the question. Even if he got a hold of the branch overhead, he'd never be able to swing up to it. And up overhead, the mistletoe was perched, taunting him mercilessly.

Harry forced himself to relax his clenched jaw. This was getting him nowhere. He turned to walk back to Draco, only to find that Draco had already joined him beneath the tree.

"You know," Draco said cautiously, looking up at the target branch, "I may not be able to use magic on the mistletoe, but I can use it on you."

"Oh?"

"Well... I could levitate you up to the branch."

Harry blinked once. Twice. Looked up at the branch overhead, then back at Draco. "That's... er... a long ways up. Do you think you can really do it?"

"I can," Draco said, but there was a slight hesitation in his voice. "My levitation charms aren't the best, but they've improved."

"Oh, that inspires real confidence in me."

Draco actually looked hurt by that. He frowned sullenly. "Well, if you want to levitate me up, I could get it."

Harry looked at the dejected expression on Draco's face. "Give me your dagger," he said.

Draco balked at the sudden command. "What?"

"Well, if I'm going to cut the plant loose when I get up there, I'll need a knife, right?"

Draco opened his mouth, but just as quickly, he shut his mouth again and gave a sheepish sort of grin. "Oh. Yeah. Right." In one smooth movement, he handed the dagger to Harry, handle first.

Harry accepted the blade, but didn't back away. For a long moment, he stood there, looking at Draco, then he glanced up at the mistletoe overhead. When he looked back down, Draco was regarding him strangely. Harry barely managed to stop himself from blushing again. "We'd better get on with it."

"We should," Draco said neutrally, and then he stepped back.

Harry had flown by means of magic many times. Whether by broomstick, or illegal flying Ford Anglia, the air had been his domain. This, however, was totally different. He wasn't relying on something physically present to carry him aloft from beneath him. Instead, he felt an odd lightness wash over his body, and with a lurch, his feet left the ground.

The earth retreated from his feet. Draco was looking up at him, wand held steady, jaw set with the concentration of a man walking a tightrope. Without a net. Harry tried not to shudder at the thought, and quickly looked up. The branch was approaching him rapidly. Just a couple more feet...

Harry reached out and grasped the branch. Through his body, he felt the levitation charm falter, but it held steady. Trying to work within the charm, Harry carefully maneuvered himself onto the branch and straddled it. Once he had his balance, he swallowed, and finally let out the breath he'd been holding. "Okay, Draco. I'm all set."

An instant later, he felt the charm disappear, and he turned his attention to the peculiar parasitic plant on the branch in front of him. "Draco, how much of this stuff do we need?"

"Well," came the response from below, "the potion calls for seven large leaves, and seven berries, but I'd say it's always good to have extra. It looks like there's a lot of it up there, so we might as well get at least twice as much, you know, in case something happens."

"Okay," Harry said, not taking his eyes from the branch in front of him. He reached into the tuft of plant matter, found a stem, and quickly drew it across the blade. He repeated the action two more times, which gave him a large pile of loose foliage. "Okay, I'm going to drop it down." He glanced over the edge of the branch, where he could see Draco looking up at him intently from below. "You ready to catch it?"

Draco nodded, then shook his head. He reached into the travel sack, pulled out the cloak, quickly enlarged it, and spread it on the ground below Harry. "Now, drop it. That way, we won't loose any of the berries."

"Good idea." Gently, so as not to damage the plant any more than necessary, Harry untangled his stems from the rest of the mistletoe, held it out over Draco's cloak, and dropped it. It was pushed a bit by the breeze as it fell, but it landed softly amongst the blue folds of cloth. Harry smiled, and looked from the mistletoe to Draco's face.

Draco was smiling just as broadly. "Ready to come down, you funny looking squirrel, you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Actually, I was thinking of taking permanent residence in this tree. You know, begin gathering nuts for the winter. _YES_ , I'm ready to come down!"

Draco laughed, but quickly set his face in a look of strict concentration. Seconds later, Harry felt the levitation charm permeate his body again. He released his grip on the branch, and the branch fell away beneath him. Draco lifted him up, to the side, and then slowly, he began to descend. It seemed to take forever for his feet to touch the earth, but it was such a relief to feel solid ground beneath him again as he set down in front of Draco. Again, he felt the charm rapidly fade away.

The stern set of Draco's jaw relaxed, and he breathed a visible sigh of relief.

Harry smiled at him. "And who says your levitation charms aren't the best?"

"Well, the ministry man who graded my Charms OWL, for one," Draco grumbled, "but I had a reason for that."

"Oh?"

Draco actually looked rather chagrined. "I believe I told you... just not in so many words. I was too busy paying attention to you. I... er... had a bad habit of doing that."

"Really, now?" Harry asked, taking a step closer.

Draco was rapidly going red in the face. "Come on, Harry... I haven't been able to ignore you since the first day of school, five years ago."

"Why's that?"

"Because," Draco said deliberately, "you were an annoying prat who made my life miserable at every turn. Everywhere I looked, there you were, doing some new amazing thing to charm the professors, impress the other students, and make me look like a fool. I couldn't avoid you even if I tried. And then, you walked into the middle of my Charms OWL, where I had actually been performing the best levitation charm I ever had – I'd had that wineglass _dancing_ only seconds before you came in – and I turned to smirk at you, and _bam!_ There goes my Charms OWL."

Although Draco's tone was serious, Harry had come to know him well enough to tell by the look in his eyes that he was being sarcastic. Quickly adopting the same frame of mind, Harry cocked his head and pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Don't you mean ' _crash!_ There goes my Charms OWL'?"

Draco scowled.

Harry laughed. "Well, I haven't really been able to avoid you either, you know. You challenged me to duels and never showed up –"

"Only one duel," Draco mumbled.

"– you became the Slytherin Seeker, and sometimes, I swear you did it just so you could best me –"

"Yeah, worked like a charm, that did." Draco seemed even less impressed.

"– and best of all, you went to all the trouble of arranging this lovely camping trip for the both of us."

For a moment, it seemed that Draco wasn't sure whether or not Harry was serious. He must have decided quickly, because his grin suddenly matched Harry's. He sent a deliberate glance up at the tree branch where Harry had been perched just a minute before. "We make a pretty good team, don't we?"

Harry's gaze followed Draco's. The branch didn't seem any closer than it had when he'd first looked up, even though he'd already been up there. If Draco's charm had failed... well... he really didn't care to think about that. The point was that the charm had worked. "Yeah," Harry said. He looked back down and met Draco's eyes. "Yeah, we do. It's kinda funny, but we couldn't have done it without each other. Actually, I don't think either of us could have made it this far alone."

Draco's mouth suddenly fell open, as if he'd just realized something. "Merlin, that's what –" His mouth snapped shut again.

"That's what... what?"

Draco shook his head. "Just something I was thinking about last night."

"Oh?" Harry folded his arms across his stomach. "Care to enlighten me?"

"I... well... I just noticed how much we rely on each other. You've done things I can't do, I've done things you can't do. And we've each saved each other's lives. It's a weird sort of thing." Draco hesitated for a moment. "I'm... not used to relying on someone like that... but we really do make a good team."

Harry couldn't stop himself from smiling. "I've got to admit, I'm surprised, but yeah, we really do." He took a small step closer to Draco. "And you know what?"

"What?" Draco's reply was barely above a whisper.

"No matter how tonight turns out... these last two weeks have been... something really special." Harry's smile wavered, and he started to feel a bit depressed. It felt like he was saying things now, just in case he didn't have a chance later. He was also feeling just a bit warm under his woolen jumper, and wished that he'd taken it off earlier. Still, he had to say this, and now seemed like the right time. "I want you to know... I'm glad I finally got to know _Draco_. Not just 'Malfoy'. And I'm grateful for that."

Draco must have sensed the note of finality, because he frowned, despite his own words of reply. "I'm glad I got to know you, too, Harry. And we'll have plenty more time to get to know each other better, of course."

This time Harry's smile faded. "We will," he said, just as a new fear hit him.

In that moment, he realized that he really _did_ want to get to know Draco better. The sum of the past two weeks swirled through his mind, and he realized that in that time, he'd come to know Draco in a way he'd never known anyone else. Sure, he'd gone through life-threatening situations with Ron and Hermione, but this was different. Very different. Their two weeks of isolation, traveling together, sharing secrets, sleeping back-to-back, and even rescuing each other had created a sort of friendship that he knew could never be duplicated; it was something rare and precious, and he _needed_ to keep it. They'd come to the point where they could anticipate each other's words and actions, they knew how to push each other's buttons, and how to read each other's senses of humour. Like adjacent puzzle pieces, something just _fit_. If he didn't make it through tonight, he'd lose so much – his fight with Voldemort, his chance to protect the wizarding world from the fate of his parents, and his new friendship with Draco. It seemed that now, one of the things driving his will to live was his need _not_ to leave Draco behind. He couldn't.

"We got through everything else together," Harry said, "and we'll get through this."

Draco took a tiny step closer. They were barely a foot apart now, and from there, Harry could almost feel Draco's shaking. Nerves, emotions, fear, worry... whatever it was that was causing such a reaction from Draco, it was starting to affect Harry too.

"We will," Draco said. Even his voice was shaking. "You-Know- er... V-Voldemort isn't so tough. The two of us against him... easy stuff, right?"

The false bravado felt good, and Harry gave a tight laugh. "Easy. Hell, he lost to a baby, right?" he joked, although he didn't actually believe a word he was saying.

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched in something resembling a smile. "Must have been one hell of a baby."

Harry shrugged. "The kid wasn't anything special," he said, feeling a bit more honest this time. "He just... he just was lucky enough to have someone there who... who... cared about him. A lot."

Draco shivered, but he looked into Harry's eyes with blazing sincerity. Although he was just a foot away, he didn't back up. "I care."

There were no qualifiers to follow; just a heartfelt statement, and Harry felt it to the pit of his stomach. "I know you do. That's why this is going to work." He forced a half-smile back onto his face. "But for now... we found the mistletoe..." He pointedly eyed the branch above him. "I think I'd suggested that you show me what to do with mistletoe, once we found it."

In a heartbeat, Draco's face went from pure sincerity to a look of utter incredulity. He blinked twice. "Wha-what?"

Harry grinned. "You know... separate the berries from the leaves; pulverize, don't chop. That sort of stuff. We've got a potion to brew, right?"

For a long moment, Draco stared at him in disbelief, but finally, he smiled. "Right."

*********

They set up on the far side of the beech tree, overlooking a large, sloping field surrounded by thick forest. It seemed to be mid-afternoon, judging by the angle of the sun in the sky, but it still cast a comfortable warmth despite the hour. Under any other circumstances, it would have been an idyllic place for a picnic lunch. The cloak was spread out, there was a small magical fire, and even a pile of the remaining biscuits had been stacked within an easy arm's reach. This, however, was no picnic; it was the staging ground for a battle.

Draco looked over his supplies. All the ingredients were laid out, waiting expectantly. To the side, in the cauldron Harry had transfigured, a small quantity of water was ready to be changed, step by step, into something that could either save Harry's life, or take it from him. The line between the two possible outcomes, Draco thought bleakly, was far thinner than he cared to consider.

Off to the side of the cloak, Harry was sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees, trying not to appear as though he was staring intently over Draco's shoulder. If it made him feel better to watch, Draco wasn't about to stop him. Harry had enough to worry about. No need to fluster him more over common manners.

Draco snuck a casual glance at his face. He was noticeably peaky, and he'd reverted to silence not long after he'd transfigured the cauldron. Draco shook his head in annoyance and looked back at his ingredients. There was nothing left to do but to begin.

"Did you want to help me, Harry?" Draco asked, trying to sound casual.

There was a significant pause before Harry responded. "If you think I won't mess it up."

"You won't," Draco said confidently. "Snape isn't here to pester you, right?"

Harry made a noncommittal sound, which Draco took as an affirmative.

"Good. I need to start peeling and slicing the Calamus. If you want to, while I do that, you could pull the mugwort leaves off the stems, and then crush exactly twenty-eight leaves as fine as possible."

"Twenty-eight," Harry repeated. "I can do that."

"I know you can." Draco turned his attention to the Calamus root, focusing completely, to the exclusion of all other thoughts. He couldn't afford extra thoughts right now. _When you think, you make mistakes_ , he reminded himself. So, he set himself to removing the outer skin, then slicing it as finely as possible with his dagger. When he was done, his hands were covered with the juice from the plant, but he was sure he had enough for the potion. He looked up at Harry.

"How does it look?"

Harry held up a small cup in which sat a pile of moist, grey-green powder. "Is this fine enough?"

Draco prodded it, then rubbed a bit of it together between his fingers. He nodded in approval. "It's just right. Now, go ahead and put it right into the cauldron. All of it. Okay, good. I'm going to start adding the Calamus to the cauldron, bit by bit, and I need you to keep stirring counterclockwise with the yew stick as I add it until it suddenly turns yellow and gives off a cloud of pea-green smoke. Got it?"

Harry gave a tight-lipped nod in reply. Draco didn't miss how Harry's fingers shook as he picked up the stick; didn't miss how Harry's lip quivered until he clamped it down with his teeth. Neither of them said anything until a puff of sickly green smoke heralded the change.

"Okay," Draco said, feeling relieved. "Next, we have to put it over the fire for about ten minutes. It'll be ready for the next step when it gives off yellow smoke and turns a rich shade of pumpkin orange."

Harry wasted no time in setting the cauldron over the fire. When it was balanced in place, Harry sat back with a heavy thud. "Draco, how do you remember all these details so well?"

"I spent a few days with nothing to do but to read that book and study the potion... and I had assumed I'd be tested regarding this potion by the Dark Lord himself. So I memorized it – every detail – to the point where I could have recited it in my sleep."

" _This_ potion?" Harry asked suddenly.

Draco's heart suddenly lunged up towards his throat. "Well, this potion, of course, with the one variation."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You never did tell me what the variation is."

It wasn't that Draco didn't _want_ to give a proper answer. He just had no answer to give. At least, none that he felt he _could_ give. His mouth was working, opening and closing, in hopes that something sensible would emerge, but there was nothing. Finally, something pushed through. "It would be hard to explain..."

"Well then," Harry said curtly, as he grabbed the parchment with the spell diagram and shoved it into Draco's hands, "perhaps you can show me."

Draco stared down at the diagram. _Think fast, Draco. Merlin's beard, think fast!_ "It's the quince seed," Draco said suddenly. "See, the original potion's deadly aspect is based on the magical properties of nightshade, which works with the hatred of the conquering wizard. The stronger the wizard's hate, the more potent the effect of the nightshade. It serves to leech the life out of the victim. Quince seeds are the magical opposite, and, as stupid as this may sound, in this potion, they'll work based on... well... it's an opposite effect, dependent on the emotional and mental status of the person who consumes the potion. Oh Merlin, Potter, I'm terrible at explaining these sorts of things. This isn't contemporary potion work. Does that explain it well enough?"

Harry was looking at him oddly, and it seemed that he didn't believe a word of it. Finally, after a tense moment, he looked away again. "Yeah, that explains it," he said bitterly.

"Harry, I –" Draco stopped short. What could he say? "I wish I could give a better explanation, but I can't."

"That's okay. I get it."

He sounded so flat, so harsh, that before Draco could stop himself, he blurted out, "Even I don't get it, okay?"

Harry looked back up, his eyes shouting accusations – or maybe Draco just thought they were. " _Please_ tell me that's just a figure of speech, because if _you_ don't 'get it', I really _am_ fucked!"

"I..."

"Draco, I need you to come clean, _now_." He swallowed, and suddenly looked a bit nervous again. "I need to be able to trust you... because I'm scared."

Draco spared a glance over at the cauldron, which was still bubbling, but with no major changes in colour, and then up at the sun, which already seemed noticeably lower than it had been just before they'd started brewing. Feeling very heavy, he sat back and propped up his ankle on a small rock. He had to face this sometime – the truth about the nature of the potion, and what that would mean for him, but he wasn't quite ready to give it voice yet.

Draco couldn't bring himself to tell Harry that this potion was indeed the exact same brew as the one that must now be sitting in the Dark Lord's goblet, waiting for sunset. The same ingredients, the same process, down to the finest detail, were all identical. The only thing that would differentiate the effect of this potion from the one in Voldemort's possession was not a physical thing, but instead, it was the only truly poisonous element in the whole procedure: the emotional element. Nightshade and quince seeds had nothing to do with it. Where the potion was merely a tool with which Voldemort could reach Harry, it was his pure hatred of his young foe that would kill Harry, and nothing more.

Hatred annihilates. It destroys. It kills.

And according to Draco's theory, his only hope to save Harry was to provide strong enough of an opposite emotional effect to neutralize it.

How could he explain something like that to Harry? _Harry, this isn't going to be easy for me to say, but you ought to know that Voldemort is going to try to kill you with a primitive, bitter emotional response to opposition, and your only hope is that I can l-lo – care about you enough to overcome the hatred of a psychotic Dark wizard._ Oh yes, it would go over brilliantly.

And if he did manage to say it aloud, would he feel too awkward, too embarrassed, perhaps even to the point of emotionally withdrawing from Harry, which would only sabotage the entire attempt to save his life. But maybe there were options. Maybe there was a way to tell Harry the truth without telling him everything. He looked Harry directly in the eyes.

"Harry, the Old Arts are really weird. I'll admit... yes, there's more to the countercurse than I've told you... but – and this is going to sound even more strange – I'm afraid that if I tell you everything, it might alter the outcome... or even cause our plan not to work."

It wasn't the full truth, but it was still perfectly honest. Harry, however, didn't seem quite convinced.

"How could what you tell me... how could that alter the effectiveness of a potion? What kind of potion is this?"

"It's an Old Arts potion," Draco answered plainly. "The Old Arts... they're more variable than current magical techniques. A lot of stuff is based on the emotional state of the wizards involved, or the intent of the spell-caster. Wizards used to inflict random diseases on people just because they got angry, hence the term, 'a pox on your house!' How do you think the bubonic plague was started? There are safeguards to prevent it now, of course, but like I said, it was all based on the emotional status of the wizard. In some cases, the same potion could have completely different effects, depending on _how_ it's used. It's weird, and it's really touchy. This potion, curse, whatever it is, that we're working with tonight... it has three major factors: the brewed potion, the astronomical component, and an emotional factor. And I'll be as honest with you as I can be... I'm afraid that if I tell you everything about how the potion works, it _will_ actually alter the outcome, because it _will_ affect your emotional state... and mine."

Harry stared at him sceptically, and Draco felt a real jolt of worry shoot through him.

" _Please_ , Harry! I'm begging you to trust me. If you want this to work... I need you to trust me. You told me... not too long ago... that you trusted me. If you've _ever_ trusted me, now is the time. _Please_."

Seconds stretched out agonizingly. Harry's face and posture were tense and guarded, and he looked like he was being pulled in two directions at once. It almost seemed like he was ready to jump up and fight. Finally, his shoulders slumped a bit, and he let out a sharp exhalation. "I trust you, Draco. I just... I just feel like I'm sitting here, waiting for time to run out, and I don't even understand what's about to happen. I hate not knowing. I hate being kept in the dark. I hate not fighting."

Draco looked at him sadly. "I understand. Nobody used to tell me anything. And you told me that people left you out last year, and what happened because of it. I promise, that's not what I'm trying to do here."

"I know," Harry whispered. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."

"I wouldn't expect you to."

A puff of bright yellow smoke from the cauldron caught Draco's attention, and he hurried over. The contents of the cauldron were a vibrant shade of orange, and Draco allowed himself a deep breath. "Okay. We need the periwinkle now." He paused and looked up. "That is, if you still want to help me."

Harry looked back at Draco with a plaintive expression, but he went to get the small pile of flowers sitting on the far side of the cloak without a word.

*********

The potion was brewed with minimal discussion. The process became more complex with each step, and required constant monitoring, so it was easy to avoid distracting conversation. The potion itself was more than enough entertainment. In fact, the brewing was even more spectacular than Draco had suspected from the description in the book. When the hawthorn thorns were added, the potion let out a burst of light strongly reminiscent of the Killing Curse, and Harry cried out and threw up his arms to shield himself. The addition of the yew twigs turned it a ghostly shade of glowing white, with tendrils of matching smoke curling out of the cauldron, appearing like surreal tentacles, trying to grab anything that came too close. When the mistletoe berries were finally added, the brew took on an ethereal silver tone, and emitted a faint shimmering mist.

The final ingredient to be added was Harry's blood. Draco hadn't even wanted to ask Harry for it, but he knew it was necessary. Regardless, he couldn't stop himself from stumbling over his words.

"Harry... er... it's time for... I mean, we need to... add your blood to the potion. I'm sorry, but..."

Harry started to offer his left hand forward, then drew it back. "Are you going to have to cut me like Voldemort did?"

Draco's eyes widened with dismay. "No! I couldn't believe he took so much! Well, I _could_ believe it – look at who we're talking about. No, the potion only requires three drops. Just a prick on one finger. I just hate having to do this to you."

"It doesn't bother me, Draco. I was just afraid of... well... being cut that deeply again. It stung a fair bit."

"I understand that. "Draco he held out the knife for Harry to take. "You can do it yourself, if that makes you feel better."

Harry almost took the knife, but then he shook his head. "I want you to do it."

Hesitantly, Draco took Harry's outstretched hand and drew it above the cauldron. He touched the point of the knife to Harry's fingertip, but didn't press down. He looked up at Harry's face one more time, as if asking for permission again.

Harry didn't even blink. "Do it."

Draco winced as the tip of the blade broke the skin, but Harry didn't even flinch. He laid the blade aside and turned Harry's hand palm-down. The blood slowly welled out of the cut, and one by one, three fat drops landed in the shimmering contents of the cauldron. With each one, there was a hissing sound and a puff of red smoke. Draco then pulled Harry's hand away from the cauldron, and peered in. The previously silver liquid was now a vibrant shade of red. As they watched, it faded back to silver.

"Well, it looks like we did it right," Draco said with more relief than pleasure.

He healed Harry's finger with a touch of his wand, and released Harry's hand. Draco wondered if their fingers might have lingered together just a second longer than necessary, but it wasn't as if there was a time limit. And Harry probably needed the reassurance. So Draco brushed the thought aside, and looked back at their creation, slowly swirling in the cauldron. It would have looked beautiful to Draco if he wasn't acutely aware of how deadly it could be in the wrong hands.

"So that's it?" Harry finally said. "That's all that stands between me and Voldemort?"

Draco cringed; he still hated hearing that name. He almost said "yes", but he quickly amended that answer before he gave it. "No. You've got me too, remember?"

Harry looked away from the cauldron towards Draco, and gave a half-smile. "How could I forget?" The smile faded. "I just hope it'll be enough."

"Come on, Harry. We can do this. Weren't we just saying that if you were able to beat him as a baby –"

That only caused Harry to look more forlorn. "I was just trying to make light of everything... you know, kinda like when I went swimming at the worst possible time. It was a nice thought, Draco, but if you knew the whole story, you'd understand why that actually doesn't give me the most confidence in the world."

Draco sat up a little bit straighter. "What 'whole story'? Everyone knows the story. You-Know-Who tried to kill you, but he wasn't powerful enough, or you had some sort of magic that he couldn't fight. The spell rebounded, and it almost killed him."

To Draco's surprise, Harry let out a short laugh. Then another. Chuckling darkly to himself, he flopped backwards onto the cloak and looked up at the late afternoon sky. "Well, 'everyone' doesn't know the full story, do they? You never asked why the spell actually rebounded, or where some oblivious baby got the magic to stop the most powerful Dark wizard of the century. Trust me, I had nothing to do with it."

Draco's stomach jumped. This was certainly not what he'd expected to hear. "You... you didn't? But how then? Who?"

"My mother. She did it."

"She sent the curse back at You-Know-Who?"

Harry shook his head, still looking up at the sky. "He was coming to kill me, not her. He actually _told_ her that she didn't need to die. My mother... a Muggle born... and he was going to let her live, he was so determined just to kill me and be done with it. He told her to step aside. And she wouldn't." He took a long, shuddering breath. "So he killed her. She died protecting me."

Harry bit his lower lip, then rolled onto his side, facing away from Draco. "Dumbledore told me about it. He said that it was her love that saved me... that it left a mark on me. That Voldemort had so much hate in him that he couldn't touch me through my mother's love. It was the one thing he couldn't defeat... and so the curse rebounded on him."

Harry's words were resonating very uncomfortably for Draco, but as his voice became even softer, Draco had to lean closer to hear him, even though part of him wanted to pull away.

"I heard her... screaming," Harry continued. "It's all I remember of the whole thing. My mother screaming, and a flash of green light. I hear it and see it whenever a Dementor gets too close." He choked out a bitter laugh. "All I can remember of my mother is a nightmare brought on by Dementors. It's twisted."

"It is," Draco agreed softly, but his mind was reeling. _It was her love that saved me_ , Harry had said.

_If only he knew. If only I could tell him._ But Draco said nothing.

They sat like that for a long time, looking out across the field; Draco kneeling behind Harry, and Harry lying on his side, just watching as the breeze played patterns in the tall grass. Time ticking away as the sun sank lower, even though the world was so calm that Draco could almost believe time didn't exist in this place.

Two dragonflies twirled around the tips of the grasses in their last dance of the summer. A distant hissing indicated a snake, and Harry hissed back at it. _Telling it to go away, I hope_ , Draco thought nervously. For a while, two birds fought in the air over the far side of the field. There was a larger bird – a hawk, Draco noted – and some smaller bird. Draco watched, figuring the smaller bird had no chance. It was a fraction of the size of the hawk. But still, it fought viciously.

_Fighting losing battles against more powerful enemies_ , Draco thought grimly. _Stupid little ball of feathers is going to be lunch._

Suddenly, the hawk let out a screech and swooped off into the woods.

Draco cocked his head in surprise, and continued to watch in amazement as the small bird flew circles around the area for a few moments, just to make sure the hawk didn't return. Finally, the bird must have decided the coast was clear, and it flew into a tree on the edge of the field, and disappeared from view.

Draco was just considering the symbolism when Harry coughed.

"Tough little guy," Harry said offhandedly. "Fighter."

"That's a good thing," Draco agreed. "I wouldn't have thought that little speck with wings could drive off a hawk."

Harry didn't reply right away, but after a moment, he drew and released a deep breath. "I want to fight."

Caught by surprise, Draco quickly leaned away from Harry. "Fight?" he asked warily.

"Not you." Harry rolled back over with a groan, so he could face Draco again. "Him. I really can't take this anymore. Waiting."

"I'd say that I understand, but that would be wrong of me."

Harry closed his eyes briefly. "No, it's fine. You're waiting too... but I'm just so used to fighting. This is worse."

Draco waited until Harry opened his eyes again. Haunted eyes. Fearful. Draco gave him what he hoped was a reassuring expression. Harry only looked away.

He needed to give Harry _something_ to do. Some way to contribute to his own survival. If he didn't, Harry would only become increasingly upset, and that couldn't be good. Draco glanced over at the parchment lying beside the steaming cauldron, and surveyed the spell diagram again. After a moment's study, he turned back to Harry. "Well, if you want to fight... then fight."

Harry looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"I told you that this would almost be like a duel, right? Oh, your _tug_ -of-war analogy. Imagine that for a minute. If you were standing here, and You-Know-Who and I were to physically be pulling you in opposite directions, what would you do?"

Harry pursed his lips as he thought about it. "Well, I'd try to pull in your direction, and pull away from him."

Draco smiled. "Right. Well, you're going to need to do the same thing, only you need to hold on to me both magically, and emotionally, not physically."

If anything, Harry seemed a bit confused by this. He screwed up his face, as if trying to imagine how such a thing might be possible.

Draco's smile faltered. "Basically, the tighter you hold –"

"I get it, Draco. The tighter I hold, the better chance I have."

Draco frowned at Harry's tone of voice. "Pretty much."

Harry grimaced and looked away again. "I think I know what you mean... but I'm not really sure I understand how I'd do something like that. And even if I figure it out... I know it's something, but it still doesn't feel like much of a fight."

"It will be."

"It's still not the sort of fight I mean, and you know it."

Draco felt a little surge of irritation. "Would you rather storm the fortress or something? Would you? I'm doing my best here!"

Harry just stared at him for a moment. Then, with a moan, he flopped onto his back and covered his face with his hands.

"Harry?"

Harry just shook his head, indicating that he didn't want to talk. He lay like that for a couple of minutes while Draco fidgeted with one of the extra hawthorn thorns that hadn't been needed for the potion.

"This really isn't a clear-cut solution, is it?" Harry asked suddenly. His hands were still covering his eyes.

Draco put down the thorn. "No, it's not. And I told you, it's going to be a proper fight"

"When will we know if we've won?"

The question was so casual that if Draco hadn't become this familiar with Harry he would never have detected the underlying dread. Draco wanted to be able to give another answer, but there was only one he could give.

"We won't know until the eclipse reaches its peak. The moon is supposed to turn red when that happens."

"I was thinking..."

"Yes?"

Harry uncovered his eyes and looked up at Draco. "You said I should hold on mentally, and emotionally." His gaze drifted off somewhere over Draco's shoulder. "I... I think I might be able to do it better if I held on physically too. You know. To feel more... anchored."

Draco swallowed and gave Harry the best smile he could. "I think I can accommodate that."

"Thank you." There was a long pause. "Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Is this going to hurt?" The sheer innocence and thinly veiled fear in Harry's voice caused Draco's heart to stick in his throat, making him feel as if he might choke on it. The book never said anything about the victim's feelings, as it was written by wizards who would have been the ones using the potion. Again, Draco wanted desperately to reassure Harry, but he couldn't.

"I... I don't think so."

Harry gave the faintest nod, then let out a long, slow breath. Finally, he sat up and maneuvered around to sit shoulder to shoulder with Draco, looking out over the field. "I wish I wasn't scared."

"It's normal to be scared. You're facing a whole lot of unknowns."

He felt Harry shrug next to him. "I just can't imagine... that there's really a chance that I won't be here by tomorrow – and don't say 'you will be'. I need to be realistic right now. It's the only thing keeping me sane. But even then, this all seems so surreal."

"I know what you mean."

"It's what – maybe an hour and a half to sunset? And I don't even want to think that far ahead. I just keep thinking that if I hold on to the _'now'_ , then time won't pass, and everything will just stay as it is."

"Then we'd never get back to Hogwarts," Draco reminded him gently.

"I don't care," Harry said morosely. "I'm fine right now."

Draco bumped his shoulder softly against Harry's. "But there's got to be so much stuff you want to do when you get back to Hogwarts, I'm sure. Things you've never done before that you can't do out in the middle of the woods."

Again, Harry shrugged, then scrunched up his legs tighter to his body. "You know... this field looks a bit like the one where we found the fairy ring. Do you think there might be one here tonight?"

Draco accepted the shift in conversation. "There might be. Seeing as I've only seen one in my life, I hardly qualify as an expert."

"You know more about it than I do. So tell me there's going to be a fairy ring here. Please?"

Draco hung his head and painted a sad smile across his face. "There's going to be an incredible fairy ring here tonight, Harry. Ten times as many fairies as there were at the other one."

"Tell me more."

"Well... as the sunset fades, they'll start rising out of the grass. Slowly at first, one by one. Then more and more until there are hundreds of them, floating in a spiral above the field."

Draco felt Harry lean against him, ever so slightly. "They're beautiful."

"They are. They're glowing a faint blue, and as they fly, they make the nighttime fog swirl around them. It looks like a giant halo on the field. And there's that chiming song they make. It's soft at first, but then louder and louder. The stars are pale in comparison. And they're dancing just for us, Harry. For you. And there's nobody else here. Just you, and me, and the fairies. And now their dance is slowing down. It's getting lighter on the eastern horizon. And as the fairies wink out, one by one, the sun comes up over that hill over there."

"It's a wonderful sunrise, Draco."

"It is, Harry."

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and for several minutes, they just sat there, leaning against each other. Draco could almost let himself imagine that the sinking sun was rising, and it was already tomorrow morning. Lovely illusion, while it lasted.

"Can you tell me about another magical creature?" Harry asked suddenly. "Something that wasn't violent or lethal enough for Hagrid to teach us, and maybe something a bit... fanciful? Like the fairies?"

Draco chuckled despite himself. "Do you know anything about Sprites?"

"No. Will you tell me?"

Somehow, Draco suspected Harry knew about Sprites, because he vaguely remembered talking about them last week, while they'd been hiking, but it didn't matter. He talked about Sprites as the shadows lengthened. He switched to fauns as the sun brushed the treetops on the left side of the field. The sky was burning a bright orange blaze and the rays of sun were almost horizontal through the trees when Draco finally stopped talking about the fabled elves of northern Scandinavia.

"Harry..."

Harry was staring at his knees as he answered. "I know... you have to take the potion now."

"Are you okay? With this, I mean?"

Harry grunted noncommittally. "Why wouldn't I be? This is what's going to save me. I already told you, I'm going through with it. So please stop giving me the chance to second-guess myself!"

Draco felt a little bit stung by that, but he told himself that Harry was just doing what he could do to cope. Still, that didn't do anything to calm Draco's own nerves as he tipped the contents of the cauldron into the goblet Harry had transfigured. He held it up, facing the sunset. He was supposed to drink it by the last rays of the sun. However, as he watched the last traces of the sun through the trees, his own fears gripped him again. He still had no idea if this was going to work. He had no idea if the potion _could_ be reversed in such a manner. He wondered if he indeed _had_ remembered all the fine details, or if a mistake had been made somewhere. He wondered how it would taste; he wondered how it would feel. He wondered if he'd even brewed it right.

The sunlight on his face flickered, and like an alarm had gone off in his mind, he tipped the goblet to his lips without a second thought.

The liquid was faintly spicy against his tongue, yet at the same time, it had an odd, sickeningly sweet undertone. It was warm as it flowed down his throat. Not particularly palatable, but not terribly offensive either. He tried not to let himself think about what he was actually consuming until the last drop had been drained from the goblet. He set the goblet down and paused, trying to sense if anything felt _different._ So far, he couldn't feel anything. In a way, he supposed, that was a good thing. "Well, at least I didn't poison myself," he said, trying to give a chuckle.

Harry looked at him scornfully. "It's not a poisonous potion to the drinker, is it?"

When Draco hesitated, Harry's eyes went wide. At first, he seemed stunned. Quickly, his expression turned angry. "You never bothered to tell me that you just risked poisoning yourself?"

"Well, if you brew it wrong... a couple of the ingredients are toxic on their own, yes," Draco said very matter-of-factly. "It's not as if you've never done something like that, might I remind you."

That didn't seem to placate Harry in the least. "You could have warned me! Are you –" Suddenly, as the last trace of yellow daylight blinked out, Harry clutched his chest and gasped. A second later, his hand went to his forehead.

Draco was about to grab him and demand to know what was wrong when he felt it too. As the first cool breeze of evening touched his face, he felt something grip his heart. For a brief, terrifying instant, it squeezed, like iron bars constricting around his chest, but then, it _opened_. Lacking any other way to describe it, Draco thought that it felt like a door to his soul had been blasted open, or a window had been smashed. He felt terribly exposed, and somehow connected to something outside of himself.

Realizing that he had stopped breathing for a moment, and that he was clutching his fist to his own chest just as Harry had done, Draco forced himself to breathe. He braced himself with one hand for balance as he adjusted to this new sensation. The connection wasn't actually unpleasant, but it was definitely something he'd never felt before. When he was finally able to raise his head, he looked up into a shocked pair of green eyes.

"I can _feel_ it," Harry whispered. "The connection with you first, and a second later, the one with Voldemort. It's... it's not painful – well, my scar is prickling – but it's like my insides are being blown around, like trees in a storm. It's... disturbing." He suddenly looked as exposed as Draco felt. "Oh Merlin, I don't know if I can do this, Draco."

As Draco struggled to regain his own composure, he scooted closer to Harry. "You can do this, Harry. _We_ can do this. I'm your anchor, and I'm not giving up." He reached out and took Harry's hand.

The instant their hands connected, two things happened. First, Draco was suddenly _aware_ of Harry, in a way he'd never been aware of any human being but himself. Second, Harry gasped again, and Draco was sure he'd felt the same thing.

"The potion..." Draco began. "It opens up a channel between... the person who takes it, and the... the..."

"Victim," Harry finished for him, with unmistakable bitterness.

"Not in this case, Harry. Not between us."

"But Voldemort..." Harry shuddered. "I can _feel_ him, like he's creeping up behind me. It's cold, a bit like a Dementor, but not quite. I don't want to think about it, but it's right _here_ –" He thumped his chest with his fist. "– and I can't get rid of it."

Draco frowned sympathetically. It wasn't as if he could feel Harry's emotions, and he certainly couldn't hear his thoughts, but he could feel _something_ there. Something that was unmistakably _Harry_. And even if Harry wasn't in physical agony, Draco could just _tell_ that he was in pain. His eyes were haunted, and he looked smaller than Draco had ever seen him. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Harry looked down at their clasped hands. "You're already doing it."

Draco didn't know what to say to that, so he replied by squeezing Harry's hand. Harry returned the squeeze.

"Draco... could I end up... er... _inside_ Voldemort somehow? Like, my consciousness, or my mind, or something like that?"

"No, it's not like that. And he's not going to win anyway, so –"

"I know, I know you're going to tell me that he's not going to get me anyway, so it doesn't matter... but Draco, I _need_ to know... what _could_ happen?"

Draco pressed his lips together, as if that were enough to stop him from needing to answer, but Harry's stare was insistent. Draco let his head fall forward so he was looking at his lap when he spoke. "It pulls your life force, your soul, and your magic. But it's not like a possession. Your awareness won't end up anywhere but here." He tapped Harry's forehead with his free hand. "You don't turn into anyone else. You stay right here."

In the dimness of the evening, Draco could still see the trembling of Harry's lower lip, and feel the shaking through his clasped hand. "So when he drains my 'life force'... I'd die like a normal person, right?"

Draco could only nod in agreement.

Harry made a little sound like a whimper. At first, Draco thought he was just reacting to the hard piece of reality he'd just been given, but then he noticed that Harry was looking over his shoulder _at_ something. Draco turned in place, not releasing Harry's hand, and looked across the far side of the field away from the sunset.

Over the distant hill, a thin, white sliver of light was glowing ominously. While he and Harry sat there watching, almost unable to move, the moon emerged from the horizon. The full roundness was visible before either of them spoke again.

"Oh god," Harry whispered.

In a snap, Draco turned back towards him. "Harry?"

Harry's face was contorted in the grimace of a person desperately trying to hold back tears. "I... this... I can't..." He was shaking his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Tell me," Draco said as forcefully as he could.

"It's just too much. I... I want to cry, but that's ridiculous."

"Then cry," Draco said, softer this time.

Harry shook his head violently. "It's weak. And what good would it do me?"

"It won't do you any good to hold it back. Let it out, Harry. Nobody is here to see you but me, and I'd never think you're weak. You can cry."

It was like a floodgate bursting. In an instant, Harry had collapsed forward into Draco's arms, sobbing uncontrollably, gasping, shaking. Even after years of being told that emotion was weakness, and never to let someone see you crying, Draco couldn't see Harry's outburst as a failing. It wasn't weakness to cry when facing death in such a harsh manner. Sometimes, it's all a person could do. Harry was undeniably one of the strongest wizards Draco had ever met. _The strongest_ , Draco thought bitterly, recalling Harry's words to him about the difference between strength and power.

They had faced so much, and while Harry had occasionally faltered, he'd never broken. A lesser wizard would have broken long ago, but Harry was still going. _They_ were still going, together. Stronger together than apart. Surviving together where neither could alone. Standing together against an enemy most wizards dared not even name. There was no shame in tears now.

It never occurred to Draco that it might be awkward; he wrapped Harry in his arms and held him. For a long time, they sat like that. Cradled tight against Draco's chest, Harry slowly cried himself to the point of exhaustion.

By the time Harry's sobs quieted, the last light of day had completely disappeared from the sky, leaving a million stars shining brilliantly overhead, and the full moon hanging full and bright above the horizon.

"Harry, look up."

Harry shook his head against Draco's shoulder.

"The sky is beautiful tonight. You should see it."

"I don't want to see it. It's what's going to kill me. It's not beautiful."

"Harry." Draco pulled back just enough to see Harry's face, which was tilted down and to the side. "Harry, you can't blame the moon. No more than you could blame a retrograde Mercury if you crash your broom. It's a planet. Nothing more. And you might as well look, or you'll miss it."

Finally, Harry raised his head and twisted around so that his back was to Draco. He gave a little sob when he saw it. "You're right." He took a deep, shaky breath. "You're right."

Draco pulled Harry back to him by the shoulders, and then wrapped his arms around Harry's chest. "Looks like I finally got to show you the beauty in something out here."

To that, Harry gave a short laugh. "Yeah," he croaked. "I guess you did."

"And there will be plenty more beautiful things. Because we're stronger than him. And I'm not going to let him have you. I won't let him."

In his arms, Harry sat up a bit straighter.

Draco frowned. "What?

"It's... it reminds me of a dream I had... while we were back in the dungeons. Don't ask."

"I won't, then." He placed his hands back on Harry's shoulders and gave a light squeeze. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. Whatever you want."

"Whatever I want," Harry repeated, but his tone was dark. "What I want... is a hundred more nights like tonight, but without having to worry about Voldemort. Call me greedy, but I want to live." He shifted uncomfortably. "There are so many things I want, and I never realized before... until I thought I might never have them."

"Will you tell me about them?"

There was a long pause. "Will you tell me some of the things you always wanted to do, too?"

Draco nodded, even though Harry couldn't see him. "Yes, I will. But you have to go first."

"I... wouldn't know what to talk about."

"The first things that comes to mind. Whatever you want to talk about. Maybe you could tell me what you want to do when you finish at Hogwarts."

For a moment, Harry didn't respond, but then he turned in place so that he and Draco were facing each other. Harry's face was illuminated from one side by the full moon, which seemed almost obscenely bright, and from the other side by the purple flames of the magical fire. "I wanted to become an Auror," he said finally.

" _Want_ to become an Auror," Draco pressed.

"Fine. I _want_ to become an Auror."

"Not professional Quidditch?" Draco teased.

Harry shook his head. "I don't want to be in the spotlight any more than I have to, and professional Quidditch would be just more and more of the same thing. Besides, _if_ I made the team, I'd never be sure if I was picked for my skills, or for my name. It's not a pleasant thought."

"You really don't like fame, did you?"

"No. And once I realized just how _famous_ ," he spat the word, "I was, the more I hated it. Besides, you always said I got everything because I was the _famous Harry Potter_."

Draco grimaced at the excellent impression of his own drawl. "I said that, but I knew you were good at Quidditch. Hell, it wasn't your name catching the Snitch, as much as I wanted to pretend it was. It made me feel better to say it, because then I had an excuse. Besides... you got more of my father's attention than I did... without even trying." He looked away. "I'll admit, I was jealous."

When he looked back up again, Harry was smiling at him enigmatically. "I never thought I'd live to hear the day you'd say that."

"Well see, there you go, beating the odds. But if you made it onto a professional Quidditch team, you'd make it on talent alone."

Draco felt a flush of warmth as Harry's smile relaxed. "I don't suppose it would be fair to ask... but I always wanted to know. Did your father buy your way onto the Slytherin team? With those brooms?"

A melancholy sort of sadness caused the warmth to fade. "Actually, no. I tried out, fair and square. None of the other Slytherins had a Seeker's build, and I'd spent every day that previous summer practicing around the Manor grounds. I had got my father to agree to buy brooms for the team if I made the cut. I figured, if we all had better brooms, there was no way you could still win." He snorted. "And we all know how effective that plan was."

"You almost bested me in third year, remember?"

"Oh, I remember," Draco said sullenly. "And you with that bloody Firebolt. I think we'd best change topics, before I feel tempted to throttle you."

Harry actually chuckled at him for that. "That's fair."

"You know what though?"

"What?"

Draco leaned forward a bit. "You would make a damn fine professional Quidditch player, but I think you'll make a better Auror."

Harry actually perked up at that. "You think so?"

"I know so. I saw you facing down You-Know-Who, and I've heard enough stories. I may have hated you for it, but you're damn good. Everyone knew it."

Harry was quiet for a long moment, apparently considering all this. "What about you? What do you want to do?"

Draco sat back again. "I haven't thought that far ahead. Right now, my ambition is to stay out of Azkaban for what I've done – and don't tell me it'll be fine, because you _know_ how much trouble I _could_ be in. For once, I'm actually counting on your influence as the _great Harry Potter_ to help me out."

"You know I'd do anything I could."

"I know, Harry. And I'm grateful. But as for what I'm going to do... for years, I'd... er... planned to go into the family business. It wasn't so much that I wanted to follow the Dark Lord, but that it was my father's life's work, and I wanted to make him proud. It was just expected that I would follow in his footsteps, and so I'd planned on that. I didn't even care about finishing school. I wasn't planning to return to Hogwarts after I'd... well... kidnapped you. I was fully ready to finish my wizard's training under my father and the Dark Lord." He swallowed nervously. "I just hope Dumbledore will take me back for classes."

Harry reached out and gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder. "I know he will. And... what do you think you'll try to do when you graduate from Hogwarts? Because the 'family business' isn't an option anymore, is it?"

"I think..." A smile blossomed on Draco's face. "Maybe I'll try to become an Auror myself. You know... so I can keep an eye on you. You never know when you're going to need someone to pull you out of a mess."

"Or a hole."

"That too." Then Draco remembered the obvious, and he felt his heart sink. "But since when would the son of a Death Eater be _allowed_ to become an Auror? Hell, what have I got to look forward to? Becoming a business partner over a Borgin and Burke's? Granted, I did always fancy that Hand of Glory they've got for sale, but that's not the basis for a future."

"I told you, it'll be okay, Draco."

"I know. And I'm trying to believe that. I really am." He scooted backwards, swung his feet around, and lay back on the cloak, looking up. "I just don't feel like I've got much to look forward to."

Harry didn't say anything, but he did join Draco in lying on his back to watch the sky slowly move past. As they lay there in silence, Draco swore he could feel that strange connection to Harry vibrating in the stillness. Again, he couldn't actually _sense_ Harry, but he could feel the connection there, like an empty tunnel through which he could reach, and Harry would be at the other end. Not just Harry, but that energy which was Harry – the magic, the spark, the _thing_ which was quintessentially Harry. He swore it was that something he had seen in Harry's eyes, the few times he'd looked into those eyes without glasses to hide them.

It was that pair of eyes that had shattered him, broken him down. Not the eyes themselves, but what he saw behind them. Some part of him was still yelling that he should be angry for that; for having been broken, _allowed_ himself to be broken,but that voice was tired and faded. The rest of him wouldn't have traded that for the world.

"You know," Draco said slowly, "I think this is the best thing that's ever happened to me"

"What?" Harry's voice was high with disbelief. "Well, not that I'd want you to still be working for dear old Snake Eyes, but honestly? You're out here, in the middle of nowhere, with me, isolated from everything, with Voldemort wanting you dead, and not knowing if you'll have to make the rest of the journey back by yourself. And _this_ is the best thing that's ever happened to you?"

To his own surprise, Draco was actually able to laugh at this. "When you put it that way, I suppose logic would tell me that this is probably the worst thing... but that's not what I mean."

"Then... what do you mean?"

Draco was glad the darkness hid the little rush of heat to his cheeks and ears. "I mean... you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"I... I'm still not quite sure what you mean," Harry said slowly, as if he was afraid of each word.

"I mean... that I've never experienced anything like this, and I've never had a friend like you." Draco bit down on his lower lip to stop himself from saying anything more. He was afraid of what he might say. His mind was replaying Harry's words from the previous night. That random, sleepy little mumble. Harry didn't even seem to remember it, but Draco couldn't forget, and suddenly, the words were making far too much sense to him.

Draco used to think that he knew everything about Harry Potter. After three weeks of traveling, eating, and sleeping together, side by side, Draco had come to realize that until now, he hadn't known a thing about _Harry_.

Harry had a sarcastic sense of humour, and a keen sense of observation, but could be completely naïve and oblivious to the world at the most amusing times. Harry was a daring, outspoken, bold individual, yet Draco found he would blush at a careful twist of a phrase. Harry was the only person who could make _Draco_ blush. Harry also looked damn good in a pair of boxer shorts.

Draco could feel himself blushing again in the darkness, and he realized a long moment of silence had passed. He was searching for something to say when Harry's hand suddenly slipped into his, and gave a squeeze. Too surprised to do anything else, and too pleased to care, Draco squeezed back.

*********

Harry lay like that for a long time: flat on his back, staring at the stars, trying to ignore the moon, with Draco's hand clutched tightly in his own. Right now, it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. His mind was flying in a dozen directions at once. In his fear of the impending event, he was having a hard time convincing himself that he should even try to keep his mind firmly in the present. Ignoring reality would certainly have been easier, but at the same time, he had a desperate need to remember _everything_ , to be fully present somehow, right here and right now, just in case it was his last night. He almost felt like he should be doing something exciting or phenomenal, to make the most of every moment, but he felt like there was nothing he could do. Instead, he was wrapped up in cacophony of thoughts vying for attention in his head.

He kept thinking of Hogwarts, wondering if he'd ever be able to walk the halls of his school again – the one place he thought of as _home_ , more than anywhere else. He thought of his friends back there who were probably sick with worry. He wondered if Dumbledore had ever received their message, and he bit back a flash of anger that the Headmaster had not found them. He wondered if he'd ever get a chance to become an Auror, and if Draco might even try to join him. It would be nice, he thought. He remembered Quidditch, wishing he could play just one more game, just once. He thought about warm, frothy mugs of butterbeer, and Honeydukes' chocolate, and the incredible food from the yearly welcoming feast, and wished he'd eaten more of it at the time. And he worried about tonight's plan, and how it might work, and if it would work, and if Draco would be able to handle it.

The moon rose ever higher. The connections the potions had created were impossible to ignore, swirling his insides around like a late autumn storm. It wasn't painful. It was like an odd pressure, all over and inside his body, but at the same time, the pressure felt hollow. If he closed his eyes, he thought he could tell what part of it was Voldemort, and what was Draco. Although the sensation wasn't exactly physical, he felt that Voldemort's pressure was sharp, and cold. It seemed ready to ooze poison, bursting through the cracks, ready to rush forth and kill him at the first opportunity. Draco's presence, on the other hand, was less easy to describe, but Harry just wanted to cling to it, and not let go. If he let go, when Voldemort's poison finally burst out of its floodgates, he felt that he would be swept away by it, and nothing could save him then.

If nothing else, he could at least comfort himself with the notion that no matter what, Voldemort wouldn't win. No matter what, if it looked like the plan was going to fail, Draco would keep his promise. At least, Harry desperately hoped he would. Of course, he hoped that it wouldn't come to that.

He trusted Draco. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized how comfortable he was with that trust. That fact alone should be disconcerting, he realized, considering how little time they had really known each other, without wanting to leave the other bleeding. Yet in the little time they'd had, so much had changed. Granted, they'd spent much of their time throwing friendly jibes back and forth, picking on each other, or even fighting, but somehow, it seemed that even those things left him feeling closer to Draco than as if he'd just poured out all of his deepest secrets. It felt right; it felt good. It felt like Draco should have _always_ been there, and that he'd been missing something important all this time. The only feelings that he wasn't sure about were his exact feelings _about_ Draco.

All day yesterday, and even more so this morning, his thoughts regarding Draco had become strange. For some reason, he felt different about Draco, but he wasn't quite sure what was different. Perhaps he was just worried about losing this new friendship just as it was beginning. Maybe he'd become so close to Draco in the past two weeks, he couldn't imagine it ever ending. Either way, when he thought of Draco, he found that he wanted to simply hold tight, and not let go.

It was ridiculous of course. He'd told himself to stop it, but the more upset or worried he'd become, the more he'd just wanted Draco to tell him it would be okay. Not that he would have ever admitted it, but he wanted Draco to take care of everything. After Draco had used the Sleep Aid charm, and his worries had just drifted away, Harry vaguely remembered Draco tucking the cloak up around his shoulders, and taking off his glasses. For once, he felt like someone was really watching out for him, taking care of him. He couldn't even put to words how much he'd appreciated the feeling, so he hadn't said so. Or at least, he didn't think he'd said so, although Draco said he was talking in his sleep.

What would he have said to Draco anyway? What do you say to someone who might have just become your best friend, in an indescribable, shocking, exhilarating way? Even more difficult when that person had just told you that you were the best thing that had ever happened to him, and for some insane reason, you realized you felt the same way. What do you say to a friend who might be your last human contact? Who might be the only thing standing between you and the unthinkable?

And just in case the unthinkable happened, how do you say goodbye?

Harry finally let himself look at the moon. It wasn't directly overhead, but it seemed to have jumped a lot higher since he'd last looked at it. He gritted his teeth, trying not to let himself become emotional. If nothing else, he was determined to maintain some last grip on sanity. His earlier outburst had been bad enough. Strangely, he didn't feel too terribly embarrassed by the whole thing, even though when he'd pulled away, he was sure he'd left a fair sized wet patch on Draco's shoulder from his sobbing. However, there was no way he was going to crack again.

Dumbledore had always said that there were worse things than death. The Headmaster's words came back to him. " _To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure_."

That was what he needed to do; he had to organize his thoughts, calm himself, and make sure he said everything that needed to be said... before it was too late.

Suddenly, he released his grip on Draco's hand, and rolled up onto his side, facing Draco. The abrupt motion obviously startled Draco, who seemed to be shaken out of his own thoughts with some difficulty.

"Wha... huh... Harry? Is something wrong?" He rolled so he was also on his side, facing Harry, propped up on his elbow. "Are you okay?"

"Actually, I'm fine." He steeled himself. "I was thinking... there are some things that I need to say, because I might never have another chance."

"What do you mean?"

Harry reached out and pressed a finger against Draco's lips to quiet him. "I mean... I don't always say everything that I ought, when I ought to say it. There are things that I haven't told people... things I want to make sure that they know. I need to say exactly what's on my mind, right now, just in case... you know... I don't make it back."

At first, Draco seemed ready to protest, but he conceded with a nod. "Okay then. Tell me... whatever it is you need to tell me."

Harry swallowed and took a calming breath. This wasn't going to be easy. "First, I need you to bring back some messages for me. I need you to tell Dumbledore that I'm sorry, and that I think I understand what he meant... about death. He'll know what I mean."

Draco furrowed his eyebrows, but didn't ask what Harry meant to apologize for. "Go on."

"Tell Hermione... er... tell her that I'm sorry I never read 'Hogwarts, A History'... oh Merlin, that's stupid. God, what do you say? She's one of my best friends; she's done so much for me, and I need to tell her something, but I don't know what."

"Well," Draco said slowly, "what would you say to her if you were going away for a very long time, say, two or three years?"

Harry blinked, and tried to put himself into that mindset. Not forever, just for a while. There was no such thing as forever. He took a deep breath. "I'd tell her that I'd miss her, and to take care of herself. I'd tell her I'd be thinking of her, and that I can't wait to see her again. I might even tell her that by the time I get back, she and Ron had better stop fighting like a married couple."

Draco snorted in amusement. "That won't happen until they actually marry, and the peace might last halfway through the honeymoon."

Harry had to laugh at that. "You're probably right. I'd tell her to take care of Ron, because I don't think he can really take care of himself. And I'd tell her that I'd expect her to either be the Minister of Magic by the time I returned, or to have formed her own underground activist group to fight injustice against house elves."

"That makes sense," Draco said, still sounding amused. "Anything else?"

Harry smiled sadly. "I'd tell her that she meant the world to me, and how I owed her my life many times over, and that she was one of the best friends I could ever ask for. She's shrewd, clever, level-headed… not like most girls. Except when she fawned over Lockhart like every other girl in school, but I guess nobody's perfect."

"Then that's what I would tell her," Draco said solemnly, "except I'll leave out the Lockhart stuff."

Harry gave Draco a meaningful look. "Thank you."

Draco tipped his head in acknowledgment.

"And Ron..." Harry began thoughtfully.

Draco suddenly looked a lot less complacent. "As long as Weasley doesn't hex me on sight, that is." When Harry glared at him, he grimaced. "Okay, okay, I'm sure I can fend him off long enough to deliver the message – which I'm still sure I won't have to anyway, but go on."

Harry rolled his eyes. It appeared that some things would never change. "Tell Ron... that he's been the closest thing I've ever had to a brother, and that I cared about him a lot... even when he was acting like a prat. Tell him that I'll miss all the games of Wizard's Chess we shared. I think those were some of my favourite times. Hermione was always there to help, but Ron was always there when I just needed to forget about everything, and to escape. Sometimes, I think that was the most important thing… to just feel normal for a change… and he gave me that. Damn, there's so much I want to say, but I can't seem to put any of it into words."

Then a thought struck him, and he grinned at Draco. "You know, sometimes, he's not that different from you."

Draco lowered his head and glowered defensively. "You really know how to flatter a person, Potter."

"It's true," Harry pressed. "You both have your convictions, you tend to get angry quickly... hell, it's no wonder you hate each other. But in case you didn't notice, he's been my best friend for more than five years now, so there must be something about him that I like. So then why would you having something in common with him be so bad?"

Draco grumbled something, but Harry thought it sounded like agreement.

"Ron tends to get carried away with his emotions, and doesn't always think... but when it comes down to it, I couldn't have imagined life without him. He's been there when I really needed him. He'll hold grudges, but he's loyal. He really is. He may not have had much money, but he would have given anything if he could have. I would have given him what he needed, but he never would have accepted it. But now, I think it would be different. Tell him that he can have my broomstick. _Promise me_ , Draco, you'll tell him to take the broomstick."

Draco almost seemed taken aback by the ferocity of Harry's demand, so much that he stammered. "I... I promise, Harry. Is there anything else?"

"Two things, actually. First, I want you to _try_ to get to know Ron and Hermione, even if I'm not there. I don't expect miracles... I'm just asking you to try. You said you were worried that you'd have nobody when you got back. Well, you've got people... you just have to be willing to cross those lines."

"Oh sure, that would go beautifully." He threw his hands in the air dramatically. "' _Hey, Weasley, your best mate just died because of me. Wanna be pals?_ ' I'd have more holes than a piece of baby Swiss by the time he's done cursing me."

"Draco, I don't think it'll go like that. It may take Ron a while to warm up to the idea... but trust me. Talk to Hermione, talk to Dumbledore. Ron will come around eventually. If not for you then for me."

Draco muttered something under his breath, then cast a glance back at Harry. "Okay, I'll do it... that is, _if_ I need to. Which I won't. But I promised I wouldn't argue that with you right now."

"That's all I ask. And then, there's one more thing. Tell Dumbledore that I want the Weasleys to have everything in my Gringotts vault. I would have given them some of it before, if I'd thought they would have accepted it. Now... well... just make sure the money goes to them."

Draco gave a stilted nod, looking as if his emotions had just taken a sharp cut, and were starting to fray. It took Harry a moment to figure out why.

"Draco... do you have your own Gringotts account? Or was it always your parents' money?"

Draco turned his head away, staring blankly at the purple campfire. "It was never my money." Suddenly, his expression turned hard. "But don't you even think of giving me charity, Potter. I don't want it, and I don't need it."

Harry stared at Draco in disbelief. "It's not charity when you're taking care of your friends! I want the Weasleys to have the money because they're my friends – my family – and I care about them. _Not_ because they're a charity case!"

After a moment, Draco turned to him, his expression tight and guarded. "I got myself into this mess, and I'll get myself out of it."

"Weren't you just saying earlier that we made a good team?" Harry said angrily. "And that neither of us could have come this far without the other?"

Draco only looked away again.

"And you've saved my arse a couple of times now. _I_ owe _you_. And when you _do_ succeed tonight I'll owe you again!"

Draco grunted.

Harry shot him a disapproving look. "Well, if you stop worrying about your pride more than your future, and decide to accept it, the key to my Gringotts vault is in the bottom of my school trunk, in a little blue cloth bag."

Draco didn't look up, but he spoke. His tone was harsh and sarcastic. "And even if I were to decide to... accept your non-charity... how would they all know that I wasn't just stealing it from you? Why would they let me just have a single Knut of your money, after you had died because of me in the first place? Brilliant as usual, Potter."

"I..." Harry stopped suddenly. He'd just assumed they would trust Draco because _he_ trusted Draco. Obviously, if Draco were to just go into his school trunk, looking for his Gringotts key, very few people would simply let it go unchallenged. "Wait a moment."

Harry reached over and grabbed the parchment on which Draco had drawn the spell diagram, and flipped it over. He pulled his wand out of his pocked, muttered _Scripto Scriptari!_ and tapped the tip of his wand against the blank side of the parchment. In the dim light, he could see the fine dot of ink it left. Quickly, he set to work, writing. When he finished, he signed it, incanted a quick drying spell, rolled it up, and handed it to Draco. "Don't read it until you get back. And if – when – we get back together, you won't need it anyway. But if anyone questions you, just show that to them. And like I said, the key is in a little blue bag. Draco... please don't be so proud that you'd starve, rather than let me help you."

"I'll think about it," Draco mumbled in reply.

"That's all I can ask," Harry said.

For a long moment, Harry stared at Draco, not really sure how to broach the next thing he had to say, the final message he'd been saving until last. He knew what he needed to tell Draco, but now, facing it, the words just couldn't come. Before he could muster up the courage, however, Draco flopped down on his stomach, propping his chin up on his hands.

"I really didn't think it through when I left, did I?" he said, sounding more like he was talking to himself than to Harry. "I just marooned myself, without anything but my stuff at Hogwarts, and the little bit of money I have saved in a small security safe in my trunk."

"Security safe?" Harry couldn't help but asking. "Surely you didn't think your friends would have stolen from you?"

"Naïve little Harry," Draco said patronizingly. "They're Slytherins. Of course they would have. Slytherins watch each other's backs, but they're just as likely to stab you in the back if it serves them. I... er... wasn't any better."

"Really," Harry said flatly. "And now?"

Draco shrugged. "I told you, I never intended to become one of Dumbledore's goody-goodies. Old habits die hard, and there are some things... that I don't think will change about me. To be honest, I don't know how I'm going to start a new life." He ran one of his hands through his hair, giving it a solid tug at the back of his head; something he only did when he was extremely nervous. "I've been thinking about this... since last night... about why I left."

Harry frowned. "You never really told me, you know."

"That's partially because I wasn't really too clear on it myself."

That surprised Harry. "Wait a minute. You made the most life-altering decision you possibly could have made, and you're not sure why you did it?"

Draco laughed bitterly. "Actually, it's the _only_ life-altering decision I ever made. I think that's part of the point. You kept talking about choices, and how it was all up to me, and I couldn't hide behind the illusion that it wasn't my choice. After I got back from my audience with the Dark Lord, and then what happened with my father... and you... it just all felt so _wrong_. Backwards. I couldn't stay there. I couldn't let myself be used anymore."

"So you ran."

"No," Draco said quickly. "I made a choice. For the first fucking time in my life, I made a real choice. If I had just meant to run..." He hesitated, and took a long look at Harry. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. "If I had just meant to run, I would have taken up my stuff, and run."

"You wouldn't have taken me," Harry said, beginning to understand. "I wasn't exactly in top form –"

"Semi-conscious during most of it, actually."

"Well... yeah."

Draco gave him a tentative half-smile. "A three-day starvation diet and blood loss doesn't exactly do great things for physical fitness."

Harry snorted at him. "But the point is that I slowed you down. A lot. If you'd just wanted to run, you wouldn't have taken me. But you made the choice to take me."

Draco closed his eyes. "And if I'd just been scared, I wouldn't have run at all."

"Wormtail," Harry said suddenly, as the memory flashed through his mind.

Draco jerked his head upwards as if he'd been stunned. "What?"

"Wormtail said he went to Voldemort because he was scared. He told me that... when he let us escape. He went back to Voldemort because he was scared... and he stayed with Voldemort for the same reason." Harry mused over it for a second. "If someone is scared of Voldemort, the last thing he'd probably do is to do anything to make him more angry. So... why _did_ you run?"

For several long moments, Draco stared at the ground in front of him, as if he could see his own thoughts being played out in a chaotic pattern on the cloak. "There are a few reasons," he said, when it seemed he'd organized his thoughts. "At least, this is what I can make of it. The first comes from what you said about servitude – how the Dark Lord doesn't give power; he just takes it. I had thought about it...and I didn't want to believe it. My father had always told me how much power comes with service to the Dark Lord. But when he had me up in that tower, on my knees in front of him, I didn't feel powerful. I felt like the lowest creature on earth. Worthless. And there he was, essentially asking me if I would be willing to throw my life away, just because he said so. I don't know about anyone else, but I like to think my life is worth a bit more than that."

Harry said nothing.

Draco continued. "Second, I didn't like the idea that I'd been trained, almost like an animal, to become a suitable servant for the Dark Lord. My... father –" He choked on the word. "– wanted the best for me. What he saw as the best. And to do that, I needed to be a certain way. So he trained me. And if I'd been better... stronger... I might have lived up to his wishes. Maybe 'better' is the wrong word. More single-minded, perhaps. Maybe if I hadn't let myself be distracted."

Draco gave Harry a twisted smile. "You're a damn good distraction, you know that?"

"Er... thank you?"

Draco just shook his head, the odd smile not wavering. "Anyway, if I hadn't already been on shaky ground, you wouldn't have been able to distract me. Which... leads me to my final reason. The one I've thought about most. The one which is the reason why I probably brought you."

He looked up at Harry. For a long moment, he simply surveyed Harry's face as he put his words together.

"Your eyes scared me," he finally said. "I don't know if you were aware, but they scared me. Not the same way You-Know-Who's eyes do, all red and glowing. I swear, when you glared at me, from the other side of those bars, it was like I was the prisoner. I felt powerless. Weak. Like you could drill right through me, just by staring. The first time I saw you without glasses – and yes, it was because I'd taken them – you were furious. You'd just woken up, and you glared at me, and I'd never felt so small, even though you were my prisoner, even though I _thought_ I was the one with the power. And you glared at Voldemort, and if someone had told me that you were going to kill him just by staring at him, I would have believed it. I could see how much strength you had; the strength to stand up to _him_.

"I was taught something when I was younger... about respect and power. You give respect to the person with the most power. You-Know-Who has power... but you had something else. I finally figured it out. Actually, you told me, and I finally understood it. You refused to let him win, and I saw that, and I was amazed. Impressed. Stunned." Draco paused for a moment, and his eyes widened, as if he was seeing Harry for the first time. "I think I just realized... why I had to follow you, not him. You were stronger. You had something he could never take from you... and that's why you're going to win, Harry. I don't think I can explain it right, but it's like a type of magic I hadn't known before. I thought the Dark Arts were a source of power, and then I saw you."

Draco laughed; it sounded almost insane. "I wanted to play for the winning team, and look where I am! I've picked sides. I chose, and look at what I chose! My winning team."

Harry's head was reeling with the things Draco was saying. It sounded as if he were coming to these revelations as he was speaking, and Harry could only imagine what kind of whirl was spinning through Draco's mind. "Draco?"

If anything, Draco's smile became shy. "Maybe you _are_ everything they say. Maybe you _are_ the 'Chosen One', the one who can defeat him. The things they were saying this past summer... I wouldn't believe it. I wouldn't even admit I'd heard it. But now, I think they might be right."

On his knees, Draco came a bit closer to Harry, so they were kneeling, facing each other. "And to think... here I am, sitting out in the middle of nowhere, and I've got the hero of the wizarding world, all to myself. Forget the Dark Lord. Forget Dumbledore. I've got the most powerful wizard in the world, sitting right here in front of me. And that's not even the most impressive thing. And it took me until now to realize just what I really had."

Harry suddenly realized his throat was growing tight. "Draco," he croaked, "I'm not powerful. My OWL scores were decent, but nothing –"

Draco scowled at him. "Harry, do you honestly think that OWL scores are the determining factor in a wizard's power? You've got something else. I don't know what it is, but you do."

An unsettling feeling worked its way through Harry's gut as he remembered something Dumbledore had told him. "Dumbledore used to say that the most powerful magic of all is love. He said that's what I've got. It was what my mother gave me. I think it's why I've survived as long as I have. My friends, Ron's parents, everyone... they all loved me. They've all been there for me. Without them, I'd be dead. I'm nothing by myself."

Draco was suddenly smiling, but it looked like he wanted to cry. "But Harry... didn't you love them first?"

It was like a shock, and Harry felt his eyes go wide as he realized the implications of what he'd been told. He was absorbing this as Draco spoke softly. "You escaped the dungeons back there... not because I let you out... but – I think – because you bothered to care about me in the first place."

Slowly, Draco reached up, and pulled Harry's glasses off his face. Draco was a pale blur in the moonlight, but from only a foot away, Harry could make out his features enough to know that he was still smiling. "I'm not scared of your eyes anymore."

*********

"I want to play at least one more Quidditch game," Harry said. "Last year wasn't the way I wanted to end my Quidditch career."

They were sitting side by side, looking out over the moonlit field, talking, and pretending that the moon hadn't moved at all. Draco was enjoying the warmth of Harry's shoulder, which was pressing lightly against his own. The presence was comfortable and reassuring, and Draco was sure Harry was taking more emotional support than physical support by leaning on him. Not that he was complaining, not at all.

"No, the Quidditch season wasn't exactly the highlight of your year, was it?" Draco said softly in agreement. "I was ready to finally run you into the ground, but _no_ , you had to take half the season off."

"You weren't complaining at the time," Harry said, in mock-irritation.

"Well of course not. I figured I'd finally have a chance to catch that damn ball."

Harry laughed lightly. "Ginny was a bit tougher than you thought she'd be, wasn't she?"

Draco growled low in his throat. "I'm telling you, Weasleys were put on this earth for one purpose, and one purpose only."

"Which is...?"

"To make my life a living hell." Draco allowed himself a little chuckle. "After last season, I'll be happy to have you back playing Seeker for the Gryffindorks."

"Yeah, because at least you have plenty of practice losing to me."

"Precisely," Draco sniffed. "Losing to the She-Weasel was the deepest form of insult."

"And the point being that she _did_ beat you. In spectacular fashion, from what I was told."

Draco elbowed Harry lightly. "Thanks for the lovely reminder," he said sarcastically. "I think I shall sentence myself to live out my years as a hermit in the depths of the Forbidden Forest, out of the sheer shame of it all."

"You could... but if the Centaurs don't kill you, the nest of Acromantulas certainly will. And as you said, you're such a juicy morsel."

"Acromantulas?" Draco sat up a bit straighter. "That was just a rumour. There aren't _really_ any of those in Britain... are there?"

Harry nodded.

"But how in the name of Merlin –"

"Hagrid," Harry said flatly.

"Aaaaah," Draco responded, letting the pieces fall together. "One more reason to despise that great oaf. I hate spiders."

Harry turned his head to look at him, appearing amused. "I told you that you and Ron have a lot in common. He can't stand spiders."

Draco could only moan in dismay. "I can't win!"

Harry laughed and nudged him with his shoulder. "At least you two will have plenty to talk about."

"Please, Harry, stop," he whined. "I can't take any more of this. You really _are_ a sadist, you cruel person, you."

Harry only laughed some more.

Draco grumbled. "Just you wait until the Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match. I'll get you for this."

"I'm counting on it. And I'm looking forward to it."

"Yes, the great Seeker-hero, returning to his hoards of fans and worshippers. And when you stride victoriously away... or, as I see it, when you trudge off the pitch in sheer, abject misery... and receive your hero's welcome, or more appropriately, your pity party –"

"Will you get to the point, or are you just trying to rain on my parade before it even happens?"

"Let's just say it's high time Slytherin puts you in your place."

Harry hesitated for a split second, then gave Draco an incredulous look. "So even after all this, if your housemates don't kill you, you'll still play Seeker for them?"

Draco felt an uncomfortable jolt in his stomach, but quickly shook it off. "I shall now forget that I heard a word of that, and delude myself with my fantasies of Quidditch glory."

Harry let out a slow breath. "Well, enjoy your fantasies, Draco, because I'm still going to crush you."

"Harry, Harry, Harry..."

"Lockhart, Lockhart, Lockhart."

Draco scowled. "Just for that, you're going _down_ , Potter. I'm sure the She-Weasel will give you a great pity – er – victory snog, in front of the entire school, and you'll forget all about how thoroughly Slytherin wiped up the pitch with you."

Next to him, Draco felt Harry stiffen.

Draco raised a curious eyebrow. "Oh? Something you're not telling me?"

Harry looked at him, with a look of disapproval, and possible disgust, plastered across his face. "That's just so... _wrong_ somehow. She's Ron's _sister_. Hell, she's almost like my own sister!"

"Wasn't she practically throwing herself at you a couple of years ago?"

"Yeah, but... it made me uncomfortable."

Draco smiled inwardly. "Was Cho Chang really the only girl you ever kissed?"

"I told you, that fiasco can hardly be called a 'kiss'. More like a 'miss'." Harry paused for a moment, then tipped his face forward into his hands and let out a desolate groan. "There's a damn good reason to live through this. I'm sixteen years old, and I've never had a proper kiss! What kind of teenage boy am I?"

Draco tried to shrug casually, like he really didn't care. "The kind of boy who's been busier worrying about more important things?"

Harry snorted in response. "Well, just as a matter of course, I think it would be nice to be snogged at least once before I die."

Draco found himself biting his tongue so hard that he winced. "Well," he said around a sore tongue, "if it makes you feel any better... I... er... haven't actually snogged anyone before either."

If Harry was surprised by Draco's admission, which he'd seemed to be trying to obtain before, he didn't show it. "Waiting for the right girl to come along?" Harry said bitterly.

"Well actually –"

"I think," Harry interrupted, "that I'm starting to accept the fact that I'm just hopeless when it comes to girls. Maybe I've just been to busy, but I still don't even see the appeal. I mean, _really_ , they're quite... well... _girls_."

"You _did_ manage to take one to the Yule Ball," Draco pointed out, wondering where this might go.

Harry shook his head, laughing mirthlessly. "Ron and I blew them off, and pretty much spent the whole time together, avoiding our dates. Although... looking back, I think Ron was too busy watching Hermione with Krum, and trying not to choke on his drink."

Draco sat in silence, thinking.

"You know... that's another thing I never did," Harry continued.

"What?"

"I've never danced."

"Danced?"

Harry shot him a bemused look. "I think I hear an echo. _Yes,_ danced. I don't know how to dance, and I didn't care about it at the time, and at the Yule Ball, I avoided the dance floor like the plague... but now that I think of it... it just seems like one of those things that everyone should have done at least once. You know, like one of those things parents probably teach their children."

Draco's face fell. "My father hired a dance instructor the summer before fourth year. He was too busy."

Harry looked at him for a long moment, then tipped his head. "At least you learned."

The words jumped out of Draco's mouth before he could stop them. "I could teach you."

Harry's head jerked backwards in surprise. "What?"

Draco swallowed, wondering why he'd said such a thing, but it was too late to back out now. And he found that he didn't want to back out. "I said, I –"

"I caught that part. But... your ankle... and there's no music... and –"

"It doesn't matter," Draco said softly. "Nothing fancy. Just... I can show you. That is... I'd like to. If you'd let me. Please, Harry?"

With some leveraging, and a little grunt of pain, Draco got to his feet, and looked down at Harry. "Please?" He held his hand out. "Let me?"

Harry was looking up at Draco with a slight glaze in his eyes, mouth hanging open just a bit. Slowly, he reached up and took Draco's hand. He didn't put much weight on Draco's grasp, but he let himself be pulled to his feet, and let his hand linger in Draco's grasp just a bit longer than necessary.

He looked nervous, like he was unsure of where to put his hands, and at the same time speechless, and perhaps a bit intoxicated. His skin was tinted pale blue in the moonlight, but even then, Draco thought he could see a flush in his cheeks. However, the reflection of the moon off Harry's glasses obscured his eyes somewhat, so Draco couldn't be fully sure what he was thinking. Still, Draco had roused him for a reason, and now, he was going to follow through.

"Okay, I'd show you the Wizard's Waltz, but I don't think my ankle will quite hold up to that... so..." He glanced down at Harry's hands, then back up at his face. Shaking off any last reservations Draco stepped forward so that their bodies were mere inches apart, and their faces were close enough so that Draco could see the fine hairs that were beginning to darken along Harry's upper lip. "First," he whispered, "you need to put your hands on my hips."

Harry moved to obey, hesitantly, resting his fingertips so lightly on Draco's hips that he could hardly feel it.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to break, Harry." He was sure he saw Harry blush even more deeply. "Here, how about this." In one decisive movement, Draco reached up and rested his forearms on Harry's shoulders, wrapping his fingers around towards Harry's shoulder blades. He leaned forward, just a bit, and rested some of his weight on Harry. Now, Draco could feel Harry trembling, they were so close.

"Now what?" Harry whispered, trying to keep the shaking out of his voice. "There's... er... no music."

Draco felt a smile creep across his face. "Listen to the fairy music, Harry."

"But there aren't any –"

"Yes, there are. Remember? They're all around us now. They've been waiting all night. And they're singing for you." Draco adjusted his arms a bit tighter around Harry's shoulders. "Just close your eyes. Tell me you hear them."

After a second, Harry's eyes fluttered closed behind his glasses. A moment later, he smiled. "I can hear them."

"Good. Now, let your body move with the music. Sway back and forth. Move your feet just a little bit."

Draco watched Harry's face as he slowly started to move to the unheard chimes. His mouth was pinched, but he seemed to be caught up in some sort of euphoric elation, not displeasure. Draco moved with him, and it seemed, with each step, they moved the tiniest bit closer.

Draco could feel the beating of Harry's heart, feel his breath on his cheek. He'd never been this close to another human being, not like this. He and Harry were moving together, and somewhere in his chest, he could still feel the weird sensation of the connection the Soul's Eclipse potion had forged between his own soul and Harry's. Somehow, Draco suspected that even without that nagging connection, which was stirring his insides uncomfortably, he'd still feel just as close to Harry, and just as connected. As he watched Harry's face, for the briefest moment, he thought he saw the shining glint of a tear trailing down behind Harry's glasses.

Then, in one swift movement, Harry tilted forward, wrapped his arms tight around Draco's waist, and buried his head against Draco's shoulder. Stunned by the sudden movement, Draco could only react instinctively. He wrapped his arms completely around Harry's shoulders, and held him tight. In his arms, Harry was still shivering, but not crying. As much to comfort himself as to comfort Harry, Draco nestled his chin against Harry's ear.

They were close and comfortable, supporting each other, holding tight as if they could defy the wheels of time if they refused to let go. Draco closed his eyes, and imagined that he and Harry were standing back in the real fairy ring. It was so tempting, he could easily let himself believe the fantasy. The moon wasn't full, and Harry wasn't yet aware of the threat facing him. It was innocent and free. There were no worries, no dangers. Just the grass beneath their feet, the stars in the sky, and the hundreds of fairies, dancing around them. And they danced.

For a long time, they stood like that, swaying slightly to the music of the wind in the trees, and to the chimes of the fairies that only existed in their minds.

Finally, Harry took a deep breath and pulled back to face him. "Thank you," he said softly.

"You're more than welcome, Harry."

He expected Harry to let go, and sit back down, but Harry didn't move. He stood there, his face mere inches from Draco's, wearing the saddest expression. "We've rushed and rushed and rushed, and now, it feels like the world has just come to a standstill."

"Maybe the world is still rushing, but we've just come to a standstill," Draco replied, not quite sure if it made any sense. "Or maybe we've finally come to the right place and there isn't a need to rush anymore."

"Is this the right place?" Harry asked. "Is this where we're meant to be? Right now?"

Draco gave the faintest shrug. "I don't really believe in fate, but this is better than back in the dungeons. If we weren't here, where would we be right now?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry whispered, leaning in just a bit. "We're here."

"Yes, we are."

They were so close. Draco could feel the heat radiating off Harry's body. As he looked on his friend's face, the entire past two weeks came back to him in a rush. Everything he'd been through, everything he'd felt. It was all so much – too much – but in the end, they were here. Face to face. And something was so right about it.

Then, Harry gasped. An instant later, his knees gave out beneath him as he crumbled into Draco's arms, clinging as though his life depended on it.

"Harry!" Draco cried out. "Harry, what's –" And then Draco felt it too. The connection, that empty tunnel between them was no longer empty. Instead, something was vibrating between them, pulling at something deep in his chest. Holding tight to Harry, and ignoring the pain that had blossomed in his ankle again, Draco looked up at the sky. On first glance, the moon appeared full, but then Draco saw it. Out of one side, a small dent marred the smooth outline of the lunar profile.

"It's beginning," Draco said, even though he desperately wanted to believe that it was an illusion. He quickly returned his attention to Harry, and struggled to support his dazed friend. "Harry, can you stand? Talk to me, Harry!"

"I... I'm fine," Harry choked out. He sounded like he was trying to catch his breath as he scrambled to pull his legs steady beneath him. "It just caught me by surprise."

"Do you need to sit down?"

"No!" Harry said in a rush. He took a deep breath, and repeated, "No. I'm not going to let _him_ affect me. I'm not going to let him stop me from doing what I want! And I won't sit down because of him!"

Draco was taken aback by the sudden vehemence in Harry's voice. "Harry..."

"Voldemort has taken _everything_ from me, Draco! We were... that was... that was nice, and then _he_ had to interrupt! I can't have anything without Voldemort tainting it!" He pulled back suddenly, breaking contact with Draco. "I lost my parents, I've lost classmates, I lost my godfather, and now, I'm going to lose everything! I'm going to lose you! I hate it! I hate him! OH!"

Harry doubled over, clutching his chest. Simultaneously, Draco felt his own connection with Harry slip; it felt like a small hook had been torn out of his heart. He quickly closed the gap between them, grabbed Harry by the arms, and hurried to steady him. "Don't think about him!" Draco barked. "Don't even think about You-Know-Who! Look at me, Harry!" He managed to pull Harry fully upright, and was looked sharply into Harry's dazed eyes. "Focus on me, do you hear me? If you focus on _him_ , you'll only feed into his connection faster! Pull away from it. Stay _here_." Draco gave Harry a little shake for emphasis.

Harry blinked a few times, but his eyes were glassy, and it seemed like he was barely present. It was very disconcerting. Draco bit his lower lip nervously, then reached up with one hand and cupped Harry's cheek. "Harry? Hey, Harry? Look at me."

Finally, Harry's eyes focused again. "Draco?"

Draco gave a watery smile. "Yes, that's better."

Harry nodded weakly, then shuddered.

"Are you in pain?"

"No... at least, not pain like a broken arm or my scar hurting. It's more like... discomfort, but not normal physical discomfort." He looked away to the side, tucking his chin against his shoulder. "It feels like I'm being pulled along with a current, towards a hole sucking everything into it. And the current is cold."

Draco felt a twist in his gut as the mental image worked its way into his mind, and he could almost feel the frigid, terrifying swirl of icy water around him. Not around him – around Harry. Pulling Harry away, drowning him. Without a second thought, Draco lunged forward and wrapped Harry in his arms. "I told you, I was going to anchor you, and you're not going to get swept away. You're here. Stay here."

Slowly, Harry's arms came up and tentatively clung to Draco in return. After another moment, he took an uneasy breath and let his head fall against Draco's shoulder. "You're warm."

"I – are you cold?"

"No... but Voldemort is. I can feel him... all around me, and through me. And you're warm." Harry released his grip a bit and pulled back, looking Draco in the face. He seemed embarrassed, and apologetic. "I'm sorry... I... I didn't mean –"

Draco cut him off by pulling him back into his embrace. _I promised I wouldn't let him go. So I won't._ "You don't want You-Know-Who to taint things... to change what you do... so... do you want to finish our dance?" He glanced up at the sky. "We have time."

Harry craned his neck to look at Draco. He seemed as if he were about to argue, but then, he softly wrapped his arms around Draco's back. This time, the feel of Harry's chest pressed against his own brought a totally different feeling to Draco. A twinge of fear, a bit of desperation, and the terrible feeling that he was holding something that he wanted more than anything, but it was about to be torn from him. He needed to say something. Something important. Something that would make everything feel better, or something that could give Harry hope, or at least, make Draco feel better for trying. But nothing came to mind.

_What do you say when there's nothing left to say?_

So, he said the first thing that came to mind. "When we get back, I'm going to take you to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop."

"Why's that?" Harry asked, his voice soft but curious.

"She has the best scones I've ever tasted. Have you ever tried them?"

"No, I can't say that I have."

Draco forced a smile that he knew Harry couldn't see anyway. "It's a requirement. Everyone has to try them, you know. It's one of those things that everyone has to do at least once."

"Like dancing."

"Yes, like dancing."

"And camping."

Draco let out a choked laugh. "Well, we got plenty of that. Once we get back, I'm never even going to _look_ at the woods again. I'm going to surround myself with plush armchairs, fancy paintings, tapestries, curtains, and warm fireplaces. I'm never going to eat another cold sandwich as long as I live."

Harry chuckled. "Well, if you lock yourself away, how will I ever get a chance to see you?"

"Well, you can join me."

"I think... I wouldn't want to shut myself away. I still love it out here, you know. It's still beautiful. I like feeling free, like there are no walls to contain me."

"Walls can protect you."

"They... won't protect me... from this." He didn't need to elaborate any further.

"Harry –"

"But that's why I have you, right?"

Draco winced. "Of course."

"And you can't stay locked away, because how are we going to have our Quidditch match if you won't come outdoors? We don't have an indoor pitch, you know."

"Well, I suppose I'll have to tolerate the outdoors for _temporary_ situations." Draco sniffed. "But I'm still not eating any more cold sandwiches."

"What did you do with the corned beef sandwiches?"

"I turned them into rocks." He smirked. "Vast improvement in their palatability, if you ask me."

"Too bad you didn't know a spell to turn them into turkey."

"Hmmm... that's what I want. Hot roast turkey. Potatoes. Dressing. And for dessert, crème brulee."

"I think..."

"Yes?"

"I'd just like another chocolate biscuit. But I ate them all."

Draco froze for a moment as he processed what Harry had just told him, and before he could help himself, he burst out laughing. "You simpleton, Harry. Oh, you..." He wasn't sure if he was laughing, or crying, or somewhere in between.

Conversation drifted from one unimportant thing to the next, but just then, everything was the most important thing in the world. Just _being_ there was the most important thing. Still, Draco couldn't help but notice that as they moved together, Harry slowly became heavier and heavier in his arms. He realized it was because Harry was growing weaker and leaning on him for support. He tried not to think about it, but finally, the inevitable happened.

Harry's grip on Draco went slack, and he sagged to his knees. Draco followed him down, holding him steady so that he wouldn't tip. He cast a nervous glance up at the sky, where the moon was more than half-hidden by the shadow of the earth. He turned back to Harry.

"So this is what it feels like," Harry mused in a vague tone, "to lose yourself."

"You're _not_ going to lose yourself, Harry, because I _refuse_ to lose you!" Draco snapped.

"I can _feel_ it though. It's strange. I feel like I'm becoming translucent, and soon, I won't be any more solid than a ghost." He seemed slightly out of breath as he spoke. "Am I still solid?"

Stunned, Draco grabbed Harry's hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "Yes, you're solid, you idiot! You're not fading away, and you're not going to!"

Harry frowned, obviously hurt by Draco's tone.

"Harry, I... I didn't mean it like that."

"That's not what's wrong."

Now Draco was confused. "What do you mean?"

"Squeeze my hand again. Harder."

Draco complied, even more confused.

"Strange," Harry said distantly. "I can't really feel you. Well, I can, but I feel you as if my hand had fallen asleep. Like I'm numb somehow. It's really strange. My whole body feels numb."

A whole new wave of fear gripped Draco. Was his plan working at all? Or was he really losing Harry? He tried to feel the connection, tried to sense Harry through it. The connection was still there, like a thread of energy tying them together... but it felt like a thin, weak thread, not something that could hold Harry in place through the flowing current. "Harry, can you feel me? Through the connection?"

Harry's eyes unfocused for a moment, and Draco recognized the expression as a sign that Harry was sensing inwards. "Yes," he said slowly. "You're there, but I can hardly feel you... through what Voldemort is doing." A shadow of fear passed across his face. "You're still there though."

Draco swallowed convulsively. "Can you focus on our connection? Try to hold onto it? Strengthen it from your end? I don't know what else to do."

"I can try, but I don't know how." His eyes unfocused again. After a moment, Draco felt an unmistakable stirring in his chest. He closed his eyes and latched on to the sensation, trying to pour himself into it. The sensation grew steadily for a minute, but then, it seemed to waver off. There was a gasp, and Draco's eyes snapped open.

Harry was teetering unsteadily on his knees, hand clutched to his chest. Before Draco could react, he toppled sideways.

"Harry!" Gripped by a fresh jolt of panic, Draco rolled Harry onto his back. Harry's body felt limp, and if the moon hadn't still been shining in a white crescent above them, Draco would have feared he'd already lost him. "Harry?"

After a nerve-wracking moment, Harry's eyes fluttered open. "I don't think I'll be trying that again," he said lightly.

"Oh, Harry." Draco sat there, feeling utterly helpless. "Do you need anything? Water? Are you in pain? Is there anything I –"

Harry held his hand up, effectively stopping Draco cold. "What I need... is to say something I was supposed to say earlier. And I need you to listen."

The tone of finality in Harry's voice scared Draco more than anything. He reached up and took Harry's outstretched hand. "Harry?"

Harry cast a brief glance at their joined hands, and then spoke. "I never really told you... what I think about you. I think, after all this, you deserve to know."

Draco was struck dumb as he realized what Harry was about to do. He was about to give Draco the final message that he'd intended for him. Dumbledore, Granger, Weasley, and now, it was his turn. The only response Draco could manage was a nod.

Harry gave him a weak smile, but that only worried Draco more. "I hated you, you know, for a long time," Harry said, sounding amused, as bizarre as it seemed. "In some ways, I think I hated you more than Voldemort. Voldemort killed my parents, but he was a name, some distant villain, even after I'd faced him. You though... that was personal. You were always there, insulting my friends, causing hell, playing pranks, meeting me head-to-head."

Between his worry, his panic, and his fear, this wasn't something Draco wanted to hear. "Oh, and this is supposed to make me feel good?" he snapped before he could stop himself.

Harry only smiled again, and Draco added guilt to the other emotions that were attacking him from the inside.

"I wasn't done," Harry continued softly. "But the point is... it _was_ personal. It always was. You've been a significant part of my life, these past five years. How we came to be _here_ doesn't seem to make sense at first, but it does. I... I'm not an introspective person, but facing death does weird things to a person, I suppose."

Draco wanted to listen, but at the same time, he wanted to be thinking of anything else than what Harry was saying at that moment. He fidgeted for a moment under Harry's intense gaze. "Deep thoughts. Yeah. I suppose it would. Harry Potter: Boy Who Lived, Quidditch star, aspiring Auror, and junior philosopher."

"Shut up, Draco," he said, but he didn't sound unhappy or angry. If anything, he seemed amused.

However, that only made Draco feel worse. He hung his head to avoid Harry's laughing eyes. "Sorry. Just an infantile response to serious or difficult topics. Please pardon me while I avoid higher brain function."

"Draco... please..."

"I know, I know, Harry," Draco said in a rush. "I'm listening. I'm trying to listen. Please, go on. I really want to hear this. I need to. I just don't know how to."

"You don't have to do anything," Harry said. "Just... listen. You were always worried about earning power, or influence, or the pride of... well... certain people. I can't tell you if you've earned those things, but I can tell you this: you've earned my respect. You've earned my trust, and my admiration. Nobody would have ever thought it possible, but..."

Harry's voice faded off, and when Draco looked up to see what was wrong, he found Harry looking at him, with that familiar, piercing stare that seemed to reach right through him. "I miss everyone at home. I wish I could see all of them one last time. But if I can't... if this is my last night... I'm glad to be spending it here, with you."

Draco had _no_ idea what to say to something like that. For what seemed like a long time, he sat frozen, held by Harry's eyes. That familiar hot feeling welled up in his chest, and he bit his tongue to stop a traitorous tear from leaking out of his eye.

"There's one more thing," Harry said suddenly.

"What?" Draco quickly blinked the traces of wetness from his eyes. "Whatever you want."

"I... there's just..." Harry hesitated. He was wearing a dreadfully grim expression. "You made a promise to me. A very important promise. I... just wanted to remind you... to keep that promise.

Draco knew, with a horrible sinking feeling, exactly what Harry was talking about. "You... you can't really mean that. How can you be serious about something like that?"

"Draco, how can I _not_ be serious at a time like this!" Harry snapped. As pale as he looked, his voice still held a good measure of force behind it. "Right now, I have to be serious! You said this was a battle. Which is better? Blowing up the ship, or letting the enemy capture, torture, and kill you anyway, all while taking this ship for his own use?"

"I can't hurt you... I can't..." Draco was shaking now, feeling as though he was being torn in two directions by his promise and his inability to hurt his friend, even if it was the best thing.

"It won't hurt," Harry said, his voice soft again. "Draco... I'm going numb. It's not getting any better. I'd probably barely feel it if you were to cut me right now."

Draco couldn't believe he was hearing this. No, he _could_ believe it, but he couldn't handle it. "Why did I even suggest this stupid plan?" he cried. "It was just a shot in the dark, and now, look at what's happening! You should have tried to make it to Hogwarts! Maybe Snape could have helped you! At least you would have seen Granger and Weasley! Maybe –"

"And maybe I'd be stuck in the middle of the woods, dying alone, without a chance in hell of surviving." Harry looked up at him sympathetically. "You asked me once... if I was afraid of death."

The conversation came back to Draco with striking clarity. "I remember. You said... you didn't think so."

"That's right. And do you remember what I said my biggest fear was?"

"Failing," Draco choked out.

"And...?"

Draco couldn't speak above a whisper. "Being alone."

"I'm not alone, am I?"

"No."

"And I won't fail... because you won't let me fail... will you?"

Draco stared at Harry until he couldn't look any more. His head fell forward. "No. I won't."

"Thank you," Harry whispered back.

It didn't feel like something Harry should be thanking him for. For helping him to commit suicide, as a preferable option to letting Voldemort kill him. It was twisted, backwards, and completely fucked up. It was unbelievable, and unthinkable.

Harry was still alive. The plan could still work. On impulse, Draco reached out and grabbed Harry's hand, and gave it a sharp squeeze. When the expected reply squeeze never came, Draco's heart missed a beat. He looked up; Harry's eyes were closed. "Harry!" He shook Harry by the shoulder. "Harry, open your eyes!"

Harry's eyes slowly opened. "I'm sorry... I feel a bit sleepy."

Draco shook his head. "Oh no. You're not falling asleep. Not now."

"I'm trying. Just... feel like I'm fading. It's a bit like passing out." His voice was thin, like it was fading along with him.

"Don't. Come on, Harry. Just hold on." He glanced up at the moon. There was only a slender crescent of white remaining. "Hold on to me. Don't quit now. Give my hand a squeeze back."

"Okay... but I need you to hold my hand first."

Draco looked down at their clasped hands, and for the first time since the sun had set, he felt his emotions crack. Struggling to control the tears that were now spilling over, all he could say was, "Okay."

"I'm not afraid, Draco."

"Gryffindor bravery," Draco said, but the attempted joke only made the tears run hotter.

"You're brave too, Draco. Not just a Gryffindor thing. You too."

"I learned from the best."

Harry gave a weak smile, and Draco couldn't look anymore. He closed his eyes, and turned his head to the side. In his chest, he could feel his connection with Harry fluctuate. Suddenly fearful, he balled his free hand into a tight fist and tried to focus fully on the link, but he didn't even really understand what he was supposed to do. He could feel the link as clearly as he could feel his fingernails biting sharply into the palm of his hand, but it was a strange, intangible thing. It wasn't something he could hold and manipulate; it was just there, and somehow, he was supposed to use it to save Harry.

Draco felt for the link again, almost hurling his consciousness into it this time, trying to reach through it, grab Harry, and hook their energies together so tightly that Voldemort could never take him. For a moment, the connection seemed to strengthen, like a hot cord running through his chest. For that moment, Harry's hand seemed to grip tighter within his own, but then, the sensation faded again. The effort left him dizzy, like he had lost a piece of himself through it, and when he opened his eyes, everything looked fuzzy.

"I felt that," Harry said. "It wasn't strong, but it was you. Felt good."

"I'll try again!" Draco said in a rush.

Harry's eyes closed. "It's okay, Draco. Don't worry... it doesn't hurt."

"Harry..."

"I've said... what I need... to say. It's okay... Draco."

Draco looked at Harry's face, and a desperate sense of urgency swept over him. "But I haven't said what I needed to say. I have something I need to tell you, too, Harry." He took a deep breath.

"Listen... when this all started out, I was scared of you. Then I respected you. But somewhere along the way, I started caring about you. Maybe it was everything you said. Maybe it was the way you just seemed to know things. Maybe it was the fact that every time I pushed you, you pushed back. And somewhere along the way… I think we pushed ourselves right over the edge."

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself. He had to say this. He'd been feeling it stronger and stronger, and if he didn't say it now, he might never get the chance. Most importantly, he felt ready to admit it to himself, which was almost harder than admitting it to Harry. Now was the time. "Harry... somewhere along the way... I think I fell in love with you."

The shock of hearing the words come out of his own mouth was enough to make his heart jump into his throat, but an instant later, he realized that Harry hadn't reacted. Not at all. Draco opened his eyes again. "Harry?"

Harry lay perfectly still. The tiny splinter of silver-white moon hanging overhead cast even less light than the dark purple fire, and Harry's face was all faint outlines and indigo shadows. Even the glint off his glasses was dim. In a panic, Draco snatched Harry's glasses off his face and leaned over his prostrate form. "Harry, look at me! Damn it, Harry, not now! Please, not now!"

But Harry's eyes didn't open. Not that Draco would have been able to see the disconcertingly bright green of Harry's irises in such low light, but he imagined he could have, if Harry would just open his eyes. The eclipse wasn't complete. And the tenuous link between them was still vibrating in Draco's chest. Harry _must_ still be alive.

Draco laid a hand on Harry's chest. He could feel the rise and fall of Harry's breathing, and the faint heartbeat. But it was fading. Draco threw his head back, and it was all he could do not to howl in anguish. It was his nightmare coming true. Harry was fading away in front of him, and there wasn't a thing he could do. After everything he'd done, he couldn't believe that it would Harry could just slip through his fingers like this, and he couldn't hold him. In a flash, he heard Wormtail's words in his head.

" _I... guess I j-just wanted to make sure y-you don't let something g-good slip through your fingers like I did."_

Even thinking of Wormtail at a time like this infuriated Draco. He needed to focus on Harry, not that failed excuse for a Death Eater. He still didn't understand why Wormtail had spoken to him at all. What sort of purpose did it serve the rat? His only need was to ensure that Harry survived, so why on earth would he try to prompt Draco's emotions? What good did the warning do, when Harry was lying there, apparently slipping through his fingers, dying as he did?

He'd only just admitted to himself what he was feeling for the boy lying unaware in front of him. Remembering what Harry had murmured in his sleep, he was sure that Harry felt the same thing, somewhere, buried away from his waking thoughts. Draco had finally found something he cared about more than himself, and he couldn't lose Harry now! He'd sworn that he'd get Harry home, no matter what it took, but what could he do? If he could do anything to stop this horrible progression, he would.

Draco's hand brushed over the hilt of his dagger on his belt – his promise to Harry. He pulled out the dagger and held it gingerly, as though it would turn and bite him at any second. In the fading light and the purple shadows, it looked even more deadly. He glanced up at the moon, then back down at the face of his friend. Harry had asked him to do it, if it looked like the Dark Lord was going to win. Draco had _promised._ But he couldn't do such a thing, even if he _was_ sure that Harry would feel no pain. Whereas once, he had gloated that he would kill Potter with this very blade if he had the chance, now he was being asked to kill Harry, and the mere thought made him retch. It was impossible. He'd just as soon take his own life.

Then, something clicked in Draco's head.

_Would you die for him?_

It felt like a kick to the chest as Draco realized that he'd been sitting on the answer the whole time, and hadn't seen it. Breathless from the thought, Draco remembered the bizarre feeling he'd experienced when he'd tried to reach through the connection and pull Harry back. That moment of dizziness, and feeling like he'd lost some of himself.

He wasn't supposed to hold Harry back.

He was supposed to give himself.

More euphoric than scared, Draco reached down and took both of Harry's hands in his. His own life wasn't as important. He would have no future when he got back, especially if he returned without Harry. He could let go... for Harry. He could let go.

Draco closed his eyes and sought out that thread of a connection within himself. Tentatively, as if putting his foot into the frigid water of a moving river, Draco stretched himself out along the connection. Instead of a hollow passage, or a stagnate thread of energy, it felt like a suction now, pulling him through with incredible ease.

His eyes snapped open, and he gasped for breath, feeling that same dizziness as he had before, only much stronger. Even the world around him seemed blurry and not quite solid. This time, he was sure he'd lost some of himself through the connection, and he was positive that he would have lost the rest of himself if he hadn't pulled back right away. It was so simple. All he had to do was to let go.

_This will work. Merlin, this will work. The only thing holding me back was the fact that I couldn't admit it to myself. I needed to love him to save him, and until I could admit it, I was held back. And love... is being willing to make that ultimate sacrifice. And... I can do this._

Still feeling lightheaded from what had happened a moment ago, everything seemed slightly surreal to Draco as he bent over, close to Harry's face. "I told you," he said softly, "whatever it takes. I promised."

And then, Draco leaned the rest of the way down and closed the gap between his lips and Harry's. Harry's lips were unresponsive beneath his, soft but cool, and Draco felt the link between them falter. He cupped Harry's cheek with his hand, and whispered again, "Whatever it takes."

Draco felt no fear as he closed his eyes. The link between them was thinning, but it was still open. All Draco needed to do was to pass through it.

His last coherent thought as his life slipped away from his body was that he wished, just once, he could have felt Harry kissing him back.

Overhead, the moon glowed blood red.

*********

It was Sunday, the twenty-ninth of September, and Hermione had retreated to the lake with Ron for a quiet place to study. Or at least, that's what she'd told everyone. She was Hermione Granger. Of course, she'd want some quiet time to study. Nobody bothered to comment about how willing Ron was to accompany her, or the fact that she hadn't taken her books.

In truth, she'd needed a break from the endless looks of pity her housemates gave her every time she caught them peering at her. She knew Ron was feeling the same discomfort. The only people who understood, the only people with whom they could share the quiet company they needed, were Ginny, Neville, and Luna. Today, however, their friends had somehow sensed her need to retreat with Ron. Nobody but she and Ron could really understand the depth of the loss – the size of the hole created by Harry's absence – and nobody was brash enough to try.

Two days ago, in the wee hours of the morning, the moon had been swallowed by the earth's shadow, glowing a ghastly shade of copper-red over the landscape. Professor Sinestra, who had originally planned a special night class with all students in fifth year and up for the viewing of the rare event, had cancelled out of consideration for the extenuating circumstances. It was just as well. Hermione would have skipped class anyway. Instead, she had watched the whole thing from the window of the boys' dormitory in Gryffindor tower. Nobody was asleep in either of the sixth years' dormitories, and the boys had invited her in so that she could stay with Ron. Nothing was said about the rules and regulations. Some things, she knew, were just more important than the rules.

And some things, she knew, just couldn't be stopped. Not all the magic in the world could alter the course of the moon in the sky. Not all the books and knowledge in the world could offer a solution. Nothing she could do to save her friend, who was somewhere out there, alone.

Well, not alone. He was with Draco Malfoy, which was almost worse.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably and turned away from the lake. It was an awful slate grey beneath the dull, cloudy sky of late September, and it was scattered with dead leaves. The first casualties of the oncoming autumn.

_Not the first_ , she thought bitterly, although she still wanted to cling to hope.

The morning after the eclipse, she'd been summoned, with Ron, to the Headmaster's office. She hadn't wanted to hear anything he was going to say. When he told her that he was almost certain Harry was still alive, she didn't know whether to collapse in relief, or to scream at him for trying to give her false hope. He'd said that if Harry had died – if Voldemort had gained such power – he would have known, and therefore, Harry was still alive.

Hermione wanted to believe it, and so she did. Still, there had been no sign of Harry, or Malfoy, in over three weeks. Every day, she had looked out across the grounds at the forest to the North, grateful that the dangers of the Forbidden Forest lay to the South. She scanned dutifully for any sign of the familiar untidy black hair, the red jumper, or even the unmistakable white-blond hair of the bastard who'd kidnapped Harry in the first place.

But there had been nothing.

Even though she knew there would be nothing again today, she had to look.

She stared off blankly into the leafy shadows of the forest, not seeing the small blotch of red, and the flash of white-blond standing out in stark contrast to the darker background. It took her a moment to realize that she wasn't just seeing the product of her imagination. In disbelief, she staggered to her feet. "Ron..."

"What, 'Mione?"

"Ron, look!"

She didn't even look back to see if Ron was following. Hermione took off running at a dead sprint across the grounds, eyes fixed on the form moving towards her from the forest. "Harry! Oh, Harry!"

She was so elated with the thought of her friend alive and well and returning to her that she was halfway to him before she realized something was wrong. Very wrong. She had seen Harry's red jumper, and the light patch of Malfoy's familiar hair, but there was only one shape moving towards her. She stopped dead in her tracks, and barely noticed as Ron collided with her from behind. "Harry?"

Harry wasn't even looking at her. He was staring at the ground in front of him as he walked, and even from there, she could see his face twisted in an expression of pain. His footsteps were slow but steady, almost trance-like, and belied the apparent weight of the burden he carried. Cradled in his arms was the limp body of Draco Malfoy, wrapped up to the shoulders in a blue cloak. One of his arms had fallen out of the cloak and was dangling loosely, and his head was tilted backwards, face dreadfully pale.

Harry continued his solitary march towards them, and as he approached, Hermione could see the rips in his clothes, the dirt on his face, and the sheer exhaustion in every movement of his body. He didn't show any sign that he noticed them until he finally drew up in front of them. He looked up.

Behind his glasses, his green eyes were bloodshot, as if he'd been crying for hours, or perhaps for days. _Two days_ , Hermione realized with a shock. "Harry...?"

He didn't speak, but he looked from her, to Ron, and then down at Malfoy's face. His eyes watered up as she watched, and a single tear escaped down his check. Then, without a word, he resumed his slow walk towards the castle under the grey September sky. For a long moment, Hermione watched him go, too stunned to move.

The feel of the first raindrop on her face brought her back just as Ron touched her arm and motioned for them to follow Harry. With a grim nod, she began walking towards the castle.

*********

_Summer has come and passed.  
The innocent can never last.  
Wake me up when September ends._

_Like my fathers come to pass,  
Seven years have gone so fast.  
Wake me up when September ends._

_Here comes the rain again,  
Falling from the stars.  
Drenched in my pain again,  
Becoming who we are._

_As my memory rests,  
But never forgets what I lost,  
Wake me up when September ends.  
(~Green Day)_   
  


*********


	18. Where the Road Ends

After so many days of silence and solitude, the shock of entering Hogwarts was almost more than Harry could take. He had barely pushed through the front doors of the school when someone had recognized him and cried out, bringing a crowd to swoop in on him like a flock of hungry vultures. Everyone was pushing and scrambling to know what had happened, where he had he been, and what the hell had happened to Malfoy. He was so overwhelmed that in his exhaustion his concentration lapsed and he almost dropped Draco. Even the Weightlessness Charm he'd cast on Draco wouldn't have stopped him from falling, and had he fallen, Harry might have lost what little emotional balance he had left. It was tumultuous enough, with dozens of questions being thrown at him at once, and just as many people pressing in on him, that Harry almost found himself wishing that he was back in the woods. At least there he had been alone with his grief.

He bent his head down and tried to push through the crowd, but it was like swimming against a current. He was relieved when a familiar voice called out from behind him.

"Get out of the way! Everybody!" Hermione shouted above the noise. Suddenly, she was by Harry's side, arms outspread to ward off the shoving throng. "I said, back away! I'll start taking points if everybody doesn't back off immediately!"

There was a murmur from the crowd, but with one sharp glare from Hermione, a path was quickly cleared. She nodded once and looked up at Harry. "Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth, but was barely able to choke out the words, "Hospital wing."

"Right," she said as they began walking.

Ron quickly fell into step on Harry's other side, flanking him. He looked down at Draco's limp body, and back up at Harry. "Harry… what happened to –"

"Not now, Ron. Please."

Ron's mouth fell open. "But Harry –"

Harry shook his head and looked straight forward towards the main staircase. He didn't want to answer questions now. There would be enough of those to come, he was sure. He wanted space and silence, but the muttering of the crowd that followed them at a distance buzzed incessantly in his ears, and Hermione practically clung to his elbow, plaguing him with more questions. All the while, Ron stared at Draco warily, looking as if he wasn't sure whether to help Harry with his burden, or assault Draco if he showed any signs of life. Harry gritted his teeth and kept looking forward.

He didn't answer a single question but instead kept shaking his head, mumbling that he needed to get Draco to the infirmary. If he could just keep his focus on that for three more flights of stairs, he could make it. Every step felt like it was made on wooden legs; they were so numb from fatigue he could hardly feel them anymore. At least they didn't hurt. But even if they had, he knew he probably wouldn't have cared at that point.

Upon arriving at the hospital wing, Hermione and Ron finally dispersed the crowd, threatening to take House points from anyone who remained lingering outside the infirmary. However, no sooner had the crowd left than they stepped through the doors and Harry was hit by another flurry of activity. Madam Pomfrey rushed into the room, wand already out. "Good heavens! What in the name of Merlin – put him down here, Potter. Quickly."

Harry felt himself bristle as Madam Pomfrey reached in to help lower Draco the rest of the way down, and he quickly got between her and Draco so he could arrange Draco's arms in what he hoped was a more comfortable position. He wasn't even sure if it mattered.

"Someone run and fetch the Headmaster," Madam Pomfrey barked as she began rummaging around in a nearby cabinet.

"I'll go," Hermione said tightly, and she ran out the door, shutting it behind her.

Ron seemed as if he was going to follow her at first, then hung back, hovering just close enough that Harry felt crowded. Harry tried to ignore him.

"I need you to tell me everything, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said brusquely. "Everything you know." She quickly drew screens around Draco's bed, shooing Ron backwards and effectively blocking him out.

Harry could hear him protesting in the background, but he didn't care. Ron was alive and alert, and Harry could talk to him later. Right now, all that mattered was Draco. But Harry wasn't even sure where to begin answering the Nurse's questions. He was shaking with emotion and now that he'd stopped walking, his legs were demanding to give out. He leaned heavily on the bedpost and realized that even his arms were shaking. "I... I don't know how it happened. I can only guess. I think he... somehow tried to sacrifice himself... with the potion, and –"

In one quick motion, Madam Pomfrey grabbed a chair from the bedside and swung it around behind Harry. He shot her a look of gratitude as he collapsed backwards into the chair.

"What potion, Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey asked as she began casting spells over Draco.

"It was... he was trying to make an antidote, a counter-curse, for the Soul's Eclipse." Harry took a deep breath. "I think... I think it worked... but he never said... there was a chance that he –"

He was cut off by the sound of the infirmary door being thrown open with an echoing bang. "Where is he? Where's Draco?" Harry recognized that voice. Pansy Parkinson had burst into the room. An instant later, she pulled the screens roughly aside, almost toppling one of them. As soon as she saw Draco's prone form on the bed, surrounded by Harry and Madam Pomfrey, she let out a scream. "Get away from him!" She threw herself across Draco. "Oh, _Draco_! What did they do to you? What happened? Merlin, is he _dead_? Who did this to – _YOU!_ " She'd turned her head towards Harry. In a flash, she was on her feet.

"You did this to him!" she shrieked, standing over Harry, who was too surprised by her sudden appearance to have moved from his chair. "It's all your –"

"Miss Parkinson," Madam Pomfrey cut in, "you will cease your outburst immediately, or you will be asked to leave the infirmary."

"I will _not_ leave! I haven't seen my Draco in three weeks! I've been so worried, and nobody would tell me anything! And if _he's_ in here," she motioned towards Ron with a sneer, "then I have every right to be here, too."

The Nurse seemed to be considering this, but as Harry looked from Madam Pomfrey to Pansy, something didn't seem right. True, he'd seen Pansy's melodrama over Draco before, but as Harry watched her sticking out her lower lip and craning her neck to get a better look at Draco, he remembered something. Draco had said that the Slytherins would know what had happened. They wouldn't be waiting to welcome him home; they'd be waiting to kill him. Maybe he was imagining things in his state of exhaustion, but Pansy's theatrics didn't sit well with him. At the very least, he wanted Pansy out of there because she was giving him a splitting headache.

"I think you need to leave anyway, Parkinson," Harry said, pushing himself heavily out of his chair and standing at his full height.

Next thing he knew, he was nose to nose with Pansy and her finger was jabbing sharply into his chest. "Who the hell are you to tell me to stay away from my friend? I've known Draco since we were four years old, and he's _dead_ because of _you_! I'll have your neck for this, Potter!"

He stepped towards her, pushing her backwards, away from Draco. "He's _not_ dead! Some friend you are, writing him off while he's still breathing. He told me a lot of stuff over the past three weeks, and you know what? I don't think he'd want you in here anymore."

Pansy's eyes darkened, and she shoved him back. "How _dare_ you!"

"That's quite enough!" Madam Pomfrey snapped. "Miss Parkinson, I think it would be best if you were to leave. _Immediately_. Mr. Malfoy is obviously unaware of his surroundings, and you are causing a disruption. Mr. Potter is also my patient and I will not have you upsetting him further."

"Potter is fine," she sniffed. "Unlike Draco."

"Mr. Potter is likely malnourished and dehydrated, and thoroughly exhausted from carrying Mr. Malfoy all the way back to the school," Madam Pomfrey said flatly. "I highly doubt that he caused Mr. Malfoy any intentional harm."

"So you admit it! He _did_ hurt Draco! Oh, _Draco_!" She made a move to throw herself over Draco again, but in a flash, Madam Pomfrey cut in front of her.

"Out, Miss Parkinson!" Pansy hesitated and then Madam Pomfrey did something Harry had never seen her do, or ever expected to see her do. In one swift motion, she levelled her wand at Pansy, and it was plain that healing was the last thing on her mind.

Pansy stared in shock at the tip of Madam Pomfrey's wand, then narrowed her eyes. "You can't keep me away from Draco."

"I will keep anyone out of this infirmary if I think they are a threat to my patients' recovery. _Now get out_!"

For a moment, it seemed as if Pansy was going to curse the Nurse just by glaring at her, but then, without another word, she turned and strutted out of the infirmary with her nose in the air. As the door slammed behind her, Ron took a tentative step closer. "Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly the world went fuzzy and cold. He stumbled backwards a step and fell into the chair again as the room swam around him. Immediately, Madam Pomfrey was crouched in front of him, pressing her hand to his forehead. "You've overexerted yourself. Mr. Weasley, help your friend over to a bed and –"

"No," Harry croaked. "I need to stay with Draco."

"Mr. Potter, you'll only be a few feet away from him."

"Harry," Ron said hesitantly, "maybe you should listen to her. You don't look too good, mate."

While he knew he should have been appreciative that Ron was trying to take care of him, he didn't want help. More to the point, he didn't want Ron to move him further from Draco. "I don't need to lie down," he said flatly. "The chair is fine... I'm not leaving Draco."

Ron frowned at him, and for a moment, it looked like he was about to say something, but Madam Pomfrey brushed past him as she moved around to Harry's other side, scanning him with her wand.

"Well then," she said, "if you insist on playing the hero –"

The mention of what Draco had called him so many times caused a fresh surge of pain in Harry's chest.

"– then at least eat and drink something."

"I'm not hungry," Harry bit out, still looking at Ron, whose face was set like stone. Ron looked away, and Harry shook his head to himself, then turned back towards Madam Pomfrey.

The nurse shot him a reproachful look and Harry flinched. He really wasn't hungry, but it wasn't worth the effort to argue just now. Madam Pomfrey must have taken his silence for acquiescence, for she turned back to Draco and began casting silent spells over him again, speaking between each spell.

"Potter, I need to know as many details as possible about the potion Malfoy consumed. Professor Dumbledore informed me weeks ago about this 'Soul's Eclipse' potion, but he had said that You-Know-Who was using that potion against you. What did Mr. Malfoy take?"

"It was… it was... I guess you'd call it an antidote he... brewed… for the Soul's Eclipse potion. We found all the ingredients just in time, too. He took it… and –"

"Stop right there, Potter." Madam Pomfrey said suddenly. She actually seemed somewhat afraid. "He brewed the potion out in the forest? With ingredients he found? Dear Merlin, did it poison him? I checked for poisons, but –"

"No," Harry said quickly. "It didn't poison him. He brewed it right. I'm sure of it. I… I don't know how it worked though. Draco tried to explain… but I never really understood what it–" Before he could finish his sentence, Dumbledore burst into the infirmary with Hermione close on his heels.

"Professor!" Harry felt a rush of relief at seeing the Headmaster. If anyone could save Draco, it was Dumbledore. That had been the driving thought that had dragged Harry the rest of the way home.

"Harry, thank Merlin you've arrived. We knew that you had survived, but we did not know… we were not aware of a threat to Mr. Malfoy." Dumbledore's voice was a serious as Harry had ever heard it, and Harry's throat tightened.

"You didn't know, sir?" He was less surprised and more dismayed at the revelation. That meant that Dumbledore had _not_ been able to anticipate what Draco had done. Dumbledore always seemed to have an uncanny knack for just _knowing_ things. Harry had hoped that maybe, somehow, Dumbledore had known what Draco was going to do, and would already have a solution or remedy for Draco's condition waiting when they arrived. Dumbledore was supposed to fix everything. It was a childish faith Harry realized as Dumbledore shook his head gravely.

"I am afraid we had no way to predict this precise turn of events, Harry." He paused. "No, I must correct myself. It was a possibility, but we had never considered that this would be the actual outcome. What did Mr. Malfoy do? How exactly did this happen? You must tell me everything you can possibly remember."

Harry's shoulders slumped and he stared at the floor in front of him. Now that his biggest hope had been smashed, he just didn't have the energy to talk through everything. Still, he had no choice. "Draco… he'd memorized the original Soul's Eclipse potion... and he made an antidote... counter-curse... whatever-it-was from that. He brewed it…. We brewed it… and…"

"Wait a minute," Hermione interrupted. "Malfoy brewed a potion and used it on _you_?"

"No!" Harry said quickly. "He took it himself... but it was to save me. I was just telling Madam Pomfrey before you arrived. It's complicated."

"Complicated?" Hermione frowned. "I read the text Dumbledore gave me about the Soul's Eclipse. Does the antidote work the same way?"

"I don't know... I –"

"That's some very strong and dangerous magic, Harry," Hermione continued, talking right over him. "And you're saying that Malfoy just made up a potion to use on – for – you? Do you have any idea how many things he might have done wrong?"

"How many... he... but –"

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore interrupted softly, "I believe Harry is trying to explain what did happen. And as you can see, Harry survived. Therefore, Mr. Malfoy must have done something right."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. "Well..."

"Draco did everything right," Harry said defensively. "I know he did. At least, he did everything as well as he could. But it wasn't working... not the way he'd planned. He was trying to anchor me, but it... it didn't..." Harry's train of thought came to a sputtering halt. He couldn't think straight. There were too many questions, and he didn't know all the answers. He could feel Hermione's and Ron's eyes drilling into him, and he didn't even know where to begin. On top of that, he could just _tell_ that neither of his friends were going to give Draco any benefit of the doubt. Feeling overwhelmed, Harry tipped his head forward into his hands. "I can't do this."

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger," came Dumbledore's voice, tired but firm. "I believe it would be best for you to leave now. Time is critical, and at the moment, you are providing Harry with an unneeded distraction."

"What!" Hermione gasped, plainly dismayed.

"But we need to talk to Harry!" Ron demanded, stepping forward. "We haven't seen him in weeks, and we need to know what happened! Harry... you can tell us what happened too, right?"

"Of course he can tell us," Hermione declared as she sidestepped Ron moved to stand by Harry. She was about to wrap him in a hug when he held his hand out to stop her. "Harry?" She was plainly bewildered.

"I... he's right." Harry inclined his head to indicate the Headmaster. "Please. I don't want to talk to anyone right now. It's hard enough… with just Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore. And I need to tell them... but I'd rather everyone just went away."

"But Harry... I don't understand. Why?"

"Hermione, I just can't. I'll... tell you what I can... later." He felt his throat constricting slightly with emotion. "Please, not now."

"Harry," Ron said, "you've been gone for three weeks! We thought you were dead! And now you can't even talk to us because the _ferret_ –"

Ron never completed the sentence. With energy he didn't know he had left, Harry lunged out of his chair. "Don't you call him that! Draco almost died for me. He might still die."

"Boys, stop!" Madam Pomfrey shouted at them. "Mr. Potter, sit back down or I'll sedate you."

Ron seemed completely taken aback. "What the hell is the matter with you? If Malfoy dies, he probably deserves it! After he took you, I would have been happy to kill him myself!"

Ron sounded like he was trying to be angry, but he seemed more confused than anything. Harry didn't care if Ron was confused. Right now, he was a distraction, and he was threatening Draco, even though Harry had plainly said how much Draco had sacrificed for him.

Harry glared at Ron. "Draco was right. You would have cursed him on sight if he'd come back alive and I was dead!"

"BOYS!"

"Of course I would have! If you'd come back dead… what was I supposed to think? I mean… Harry, he brought you to You-Know-Who!"

Harry felt his fist drawing backwards of its own accord, but before he could strike, Hermione threw herself between them. "Stop it! Both of you. Harry, you're going to exhaust yourself; you need to sit down. Ron, I'm sure Harry has a very good explanation for this, and he'll tell us if you stop yelling at him!"

"Miss Granger is quite correct," Madam Pomfrey said tersely. "And the Headmaster is also correct. It would probably be best for you both to leave right now. Mr. Potter's explanation for you will have to wait for later."

"But... but _Harry_ ," Ron said sounding quite beside himself. "You don't _really_ want us to go... do you?"

He hated to do it, but right now, that was exactly what Harry wanted. He nodded.

Never in his life had Harry seen the look of disgust Ron gave him just then. Hermione looked stunned.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, now –"

"I'm going, I'm going," Ron said angrily. "Come on, Hermione."

Hermione seemed torn between holding her ground and following after Ron, but a stern look from the Nurse sent her trotting towards the door. She kept throwing confused, questioning looks back over her shoulder at Harry until the door closed behind them and they were gone.

Harry stood there, staring at the door, until he felt the floor tip under his feet. It was only Dumbledore's hands that stopped him from hitting his head on the bed table as he toppled over. "Harry, perhaps we should get you to a bed."

Dumbledore began to guide him towards a nearby bed, but Harry shook his head. "No... please, sir... I want to stay here. The chair is fine."

Dumbledore nodded understandingly and helped Harry to the chair.

In the meantime, Madam Pomfrey had already set herself back to work, fluttering around Draco, casting spells, and muttering to herself. "Respiration is seven breaths per minute... blood pressure is low at eighty-four over fifty-seven. Potter, I'm sorry about your disagreements with your friends, but now I really need to know more about what happened to Mr. Malfoy."

In an instant, Harry's mind was focused solely on Draco again. As much as the memory pained him, he needed to remember. He didn't really want to think about anything else, but at the same time, he didn't have very much useful information he could give. "I told you... he tried to counteract the Soul's Eclipse... at first it didn't seem to be working, but it must have worked. If it hadn't, I should be dead, so of course it worked. But in the morning... I woke up and he... he..."

"He _what_ , Potter?"

Harry pulled off his glasses and leaned heavily on his hands. This was harder than he'd thought it would be. It was all too fresh, and he was too raw, and none of it made sense. Well, some of it made sense. While he could guess what Draco might have done, he had no idea how he'd done it, or – if Draco had attempted to sacrifice himself – why he wasn't dead. "He wasn't supposed to die... it wasn't supposed to hurt him... but I woke up and he was... he was –"

"If I may, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted softly as he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry supposed Dumbledore was trying to lend him some support or comfort in the physical contact, but it was all Harry could do not to pull away. He didn't want to be touched. He didn't want to be comforted. He just wanted Draco back. But then, he didn't want to talk about it either, so he nodded his consent for Dumbledore to continue.

Dumbledore spoke while Madam Pomfrey continued her flurry of activity around Draco. "The boy tried to – and apparently succeeded in – saving Harry from the effects of the Soul's Eclipse potion. Had Voldemort succeeded, he would have indeed become more powerful than he had ever been before, and perhaps unstoppable." Dumbledore's mouth curved into a smile. "I do believe the wizarding world owes Mr. Malfoy a debt of gratitude."

"That's all very well and good, Headmaster," Madam Pomfrey quipped shortly, "but I don't care about the heroics and your marvellous tale. I need to know what's wrong with the boy, so that I can revive him." She cast another spell, which caused a little red light to glow over Draco's chest, pulsing softly like a heartbeat. Harry had to look away. Madam Pomfrey continued. "What is this antidote and how does it work? I do wish Professor Snape were back – his Potions expertise would undoubtedly be useful right now. Do you have texts on the antidote, or even on the poison itself?"

"It's not a poison, not precisely anyway."

"Then what _is_ it?" Madam Pomfrey asked impatiently. "When you explained this 'Soul's Eclipse' to me, it sounded quite like a poison."

"The potion itself is only a vehicle for the energy involved in a complex piece of magic. The real hazard is more of a curse than a poison. And this is what's so astounding: there is no known antidote or counter-curse. Or at least, there wasn't."

At that, Madam Pomfrey ground to a halt, her wand fizzling with a half-executed spell. "Albus, are you telling me that a sixteen-year-old boy succeeded in counteracting a deadly, and if I'm not mistaken, violently potent piece of Dark magic from the most powerful Dark wizard in the world... without any sort of guideline whatsoever? That's ridiculous! Impossible! That's –"

"Exactly what Draco did," Harry said.

"By Merlin." Madam Pomfrey turned towards Harry, looking stunned, but also somewhat accusatory. "You said he brewed it... but he actually _designed_ it, too? How?"

"I don't have any notes on the original potion," Harry said nervously, "but... these are Draco's notes on the counter-curse." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the roll of parchment. He'd found it blown against the base of the beech tree, and had hoped it might come in handy. He held it out towards Madam Pomfrey, but Dumbledore took it instead.

Madam Pomfrey didn't seem offended by Dumbledore's actions, and simply drew up behind him to read over his shoulder. Dumbledore unrolled the parchment, and Harry quickly saw which side he was reading. He'd almost forgotten… not that it was a problem if Dumbledore read it. It was just the wrong side. "Not that side, sir. Turn it over."

Dumbledore raised a curious eyebrow, flipped the page over, and surveyed the parchment. As he studied the spell diagram, his eyes slowly became wider and wider. Suddenly, he rolled the parchment again, and turned to Madam Pomfrey. "I must leave at once."

"But Professor!" Harry made a move to get out of his chair, but Dumbledore pushed him back down softly. "You're going to leave? But –"

"Harry, my boy, if I don't leave now, I may not have a solution in time. I have a theory –"

"Do you know what Draco did?" Harry asked in a rush. "Can you bring him back?"

The Headmaster's eyes were kind but serious. "Harry, I do not know anything for certain, but some of this spell diagram is similar to something I have seen before. From a different source, yes, but I'm quite certain I've seen something like it. I must confer with a colleague of mine who would know far better than anyone else – including myself – about this matter."

"But sir, where –"

"I will be back very soon, Harry, I promise. But unless I can confirm my suspicions, I doubt very much that we will be able to help Draco. And yes, he may be alive at the moment, but if left in this condition... he will eventually die. In fact, if he did indeed use this spell –" He indicated the parchment. "– as he designed it, and did indeed manage to save your life, I am amazed that he is still alive at all. I have a theory as to how he survived, but until I have more information, I cannot help him." He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder for just a moment before turning to Madam Pomfrey. "Poppy, keep Mr. Malfoy comfortable, keep him warm, but I don't think any potions or spells would help at this point. And Harry may return to his house as soon as you feel he is strong enough."

"I'm not leaving Draco," Harry said defiantly.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, suddenly stern, "you will do whatever Madam Pomfrey tells you to do. And I daresay your friends, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, need you just as much as Draco. They have been frantic in your absence, and although I believed it to be necessary, I was reluctant to send them away. They care for you very much. Also, who better to be with than your friends at a time like this? You need them, and I will not allow you to avoid them."

Harry meant to argue, but any argument died on his tongue. "Yes, sir."

"Eat something, Harry, rest, and then go see your friends. I will return as soon as possible. Poppy," he acknowledged the Nurse, and turned to leave.

"WAIT!" Harry called out suddenly.

Dumbledore didn't turn around, but he paused. "Yes, Harry?"

"Professor Dumbledore... sir... before the night of the eclipse, Draco and I were talking... and he was worried that he... well... Draco was afraid that when we got back, he would be thrown into Azkaban, or that Voldemort would send someone to kill him. He... he was afraid that both sides would want him dead. Can you protect him?"

Dumbledore turned just enough so that he could look at Harry out the corner of his eye. "Draco was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for you, Harry. Do you think I would ever allow one of your friends to come to harm?" For the first time since he'd seen Dumbledore enter the infirmary, Harry saw a hint of the familiar twinkle return to Dumbledore's eyes. A smile from the Headmaster confirmed Harry's wishes, then without further delay, Dumbledore strode out of the infirmary.

"Well," Madam Pomfrey said, drawing herself up smartly, "you heard the Headmaster. I shall call a house-elf to bring you some food, and then I'm giving you a full examination whether you like it or –"

The infirmary door flew open with a crash. "Blimey, Harry! Yer back!" Hagrid crossed the floor in no more than five strides. "They jus' told me! I was on me way ter find Professor Sprout, see, an' I ran inter Ron an' Hermione – they seemed awfully upset, Harry – an' –"

In one movement, Madam Pomfrey inserted herself between Hagrid and Harry. Although she was completely dwarfed by Hagrid's enormous bulk, Harry noted that she seemed larger than Hagrid just then. "Hagrid, like everyone else, I'm sure you're quite excited to see Mr. Potter, but he can't have any more visitors until I've given him a thorough examination, and he's eaten something and rested."

Even Hagrid's button-like eyes seemed to widen as he looked directly over the top of Madam Pomfrey's head at Harry. "Harry, are yeh alrigh'?"

"I'm fine, Hagrid. Thanks..."

"What happened ter the Malfoy boy? I know he... well... took yeh... but Dumbledore said he's all righ' – Harry?"

Harry could feel himself starting to break down again, and he shook his head in wide arcs back and forth. "Draco... he..."

"That's quite enough," Madam Pomfrey said sharply. "Hagrid, I need you to leave. I have two patients who require my attention, and your questions are not helping right now."

Hagrid had the good grace to look utterly chastised. Or maybe he actually was. "Er... righ'... sorry, Poppy... Harry..."

"It's not your fault, Hagrid," Harry said. "Maybe you can... er... do me a favour? If you see Hermione and Ron... tell them... er... tell them I'm fine... and I'm not angry at them. Just not feeling like myself, that's all."

Hagrid's beard drooped in a frown. "All righ', Harry. Yeh get some rest, promise?"

"I will. I'll see you soon, Hagrid. And... thanks for stopping by."

Hagrid seemed to perk up a bit, and he waved encouragingly as he walked out of the room and shut the door – a lot more quietly this time. Harry smiled weakly. Of all the people who had visited him, Hagrid seemed like the only one who was purely happy to see him, and didn't seem like he was going to hex Draco on the spot either. Simple friendship. That was all Hagrid had ever given him. A flash of guilt hit Harry as he realized that when he'd given messages to Draco to bring back, he'd forgotten Hagrid. Harry slumped back in his chair, feeling like he'd been kicked in the head.

Madam Pomfrey looked back down at Harry. "You look even worse now than you did five minutes ago."

"I'm fine."

She frowned at him disapprovingly. "Did you have any major injuries while you were out Merlin-knows-where?"

"I did, but Draco healed it."

"He did, did he? What was the diagnosis?"

"Broken ribs."

Not missing a beat, Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand at Harry, and he felt a wash of magic tingling through him. "How long ago was this?"

"A bit over a week. I lost track of the days."

She passed her wand over him again, then clicked her tongue. "It can't have been a bad break," she said. "There isn't a trace of it left, and I sincerely doubt that Draco has had the training necessary to heal a real fracture so perfectly in such a short time. It was probably just some nasty bone bruises. Those can be quite painful, too."

"Yeah," Harry said evasively, not wanting to mention how Draco had managed to heal him. If he did, he would surely have to explain it, and he just didn't have the energy for that. "I suppose it wasn't bad at all. I'm fine... but Draco had a concussion about two weeks ago... and then his ankle –"

"Yes, I've already found and healed the ankle injury. It was a proper mess of torn and twisted ligaments, with some cartilage damage, but by the time he's on his feet again, he won't even notice that it was ever sore."

"Oh. That's good."

"It is," Madam Pomfrey agreed. She looked at him for a moment, then her usual businesslike expression became softer. "I know that I can't possibly understand what you have been through, Harry, but I want you to know that you have my sympathies. I never thought I'd see the day when you two... well... you understand. But I know that the Headmaster will not rest until he's found a solution, and we will be able to remedy Mr. Malfoy's condition soon. He'll be fine, I'm sure, but starving yourself won't do anybody any good. So, if you'll excuse me while I call a house-elf, we'll have a proper meal here for you in short order. Then I'll check you over, and you can return to your friends."

Instantly, Harry stiffened. Right now, Gryffindor Tower was the last place he wanted to be, short of Voldemort's dungeons.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Of course, if you wish to rest here for a while before your housemates exhaust you with their interrogations, then that would be acceptable. Perhaps Hagrid will attenuate the situation. Now, try to relax for a minute while I summon a house-elf." She gathered up her apron and went to her office, leaving Harry alone with Draco.

The red light over Draco's chest was still pulsing softly, and for what must have been the hundredth time that day, Harry felt hot tears starting to well up. Slowly, Harry stood and walked on unsteady legs to Draco's bedside. For a long moment, he stared at Draco's face, the ghostly pallor of his skin, the slight parting of his grey-tinged lips as he breathed, and eyes that never opened. For two long days, Harry had seen that face, looking just like that. Even when he had closed his eyes, or when he had drifted off into uncomfortable, nightmare-ridden catnaps, he could still see that face. Each time was just as bad as the first.

When he'd awakened the morning after the eclipse, returning to consciousness had been like climbing an endlessly long ladder out of a deep, dark pit, or swimming up from the depths of Hogwarts' lake. His body had felt numb and prickly, almost like it had when he was recovering from Draco's Freezing Potion three weeks before. The sensation of pins and needles had assaulted every inch of his body, but it only meant that he was alive. By Merlin, he'd survived. He had opened his eyes as he felt the first rays of dawn touching his face, and he'd sucked in great gulps of air. _It's morning!_ he'd cried aloud, too relieved to feel ridiculous for stating the obvious. _Draco, you did it!_ But then he'd tried to sit up, and found that he couldn't. There was a heavy weight across his chest.

Draco had been lying there, face down, collapsed across Harry. His head had been tilted just enough to the side that Harry could see his closed eyes. _Draco?_ He'd poked Draco, but the blond head didn't move. Grey eyes didn't open. Smirking mouth didn't grumble about being woken up too early. Harry had panicked and grabbed Draco hard. Shook him. Screamed. And screamed.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear the echoes of his own screaming from his brain. On some level, part of him was so proud of Draco, recognizing how profound his sacrifice had been and how far Draco must have come to be able to do such a thing. However, a far greater part of him was still screaming.

_Stupid, stupid, selfless, courageous, stupid…_ Harry thought to himself like a mantra as he fought back the urge to cry.

The initial shock might have worn off but it had only been replaced by a much deeper ache, and a sense of loss unlike anything he'd ever felt before. With nothing else to think about for two days, looking down at that pale face that never so much as twitched, understanding had finally come to him. He hadn't realized just how much their ordeal had affected him while he was still in the thick of it, but now it was over, he could look back on it. Now, he could see what had happened. Now, he could feel what had changed. He knew what Draco had come to mean to him; the painfully hollow spot in his chest – unavoidable, impossible to ignore – was testimony to that. He couldn't say it out loud, but he knew.

Finally, he reached down to the end of the bed, unfolded the blanket that lay there, and covered Draco with it. With painstaking gentleness, he tucked the blanket smoothly up to Draco's chest, carefully avoiding the charm hovering above. The red light was still pulsing slowly. Much too slowly.

*********

By late afternoon, Harry couldn't delay anymore. He'd picked at the food the house-elf had left until Madam Pomfrey was satisfied that he wasn't starving, and had then pushed the plate aside. For a long time, he'd sat in rapt attention at Draco's bedside, holding his unresponsive hand, looking for any sign of movement… even the twitch of an eye. Of course, there was nothing. Eventually, Madam Pomfrey had directed him to a small bathroom off to the side of the infirmary, where a shower was waiting for him along with some of his clean clothes that another house-elf had brought down. The warm water had felt good on his skin, and it was wonderful to be truly clean for the first time in weeks, but it almost didn't matter. He had dried off, changed into the clean clothes, and returned immediately to Draco's bedside.

By then, the light rain that had begun that morning had become a steady downpour. Water was spattering against the windows, and Harry could hear the wind whistling angrily. At some point, he had fallen asleep in his chair, head resting on the side of Draco's mattress. When he'd awoken, he found he'd been moved to a nearby bed. Physically, he felt much better, but waking up to find Draco still unconscious only added guilt to the list of emotions weighing heavily on his chest. He vaguely recognized it as survivor's guilt, something with which he'd become intimately familiar over recent years, but that didn't make it any better.

_Another person, dead because of me. Or almost dead._ Harry rolled out of his bed, and crossed to Draco's side. He didn't hesitate to grab Draco's hand, which, to his dismay, was dreadfully cold. He quickly began kneading it between his own hands, trying to improve circulation to the clammy fingers, wishing he could just feel Draco squeeze his hand back, but knowing it wouldn't happen. _Every good thing that I have, Voldemort taints or destroys. Everything._

Footsteps approached slowly from behind him, and he quickly dropped Draco's hand and whipped his head around to see Madam Pomfrey.

"Potter," she said softly, "I understand your hesitation, but really, you need to go back to your house. You've had no less than a few dozen visitors enquiring about your health while you were asleep, including several visits by Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley."

"Has anyone else asked about Draco?" Harry asked, looking back down at Draco.

"Miss Parkinson came back once, but I told her that Mr. Malfoy was still in an unstable condition and that nobody was being allowed to visit him until he was stabilized. You seemed adamant that she was to be kept away from Mr. Malfoy, and I'm assuming there was a reason for it."

"I don't trust her," Harry said simply. "Draco told me... he told me that because he betrayed the Dark Lord, his housemates who have parents loyal to Voldemort would be just as likely to kill him as to welcome him home. Something in the way she was talking... it didn't seem right." He finally turned around fully to look at Madam Pomfrey. "I won't let anyone hurt him. He's given so much... I can't let anything worse happen to him. Promise me you'll keep the Slytherins away from him? He's right. They might try something."

Madam Pomfrey seemed sceptical, but after a momentary staring contest, she looked up at the ceiling in defeat. "Mr. Potter, nobody has ever been killed in this infirmary, and I don't intend to let it begin now." She looked back down at him and planted her fists on her hips. "I won't allow any unsupervised visits with Mr. Malfoy, and if it makes you feel better, no visits at all until the Headmaster returns."

Harry nodded slowly. "Thank you. Er… Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yes?"

"Draco... doesn't want to be called by his surname anymore. I think he'd want me to tell you that."

The Nurse gave him a businesslike nod. "Draco, then. And he had one other visitor, in case you were wondering."

"Who?"

"Vincent Crabbe."

Harry frowned. "But not Goyle? Those two are inseparable."

"Now that you mention it, that does seem just a bit odd," Madam Pomfrey said. "He also asked if anyone else had come to see Draco."

"Strange..." Harry pondered. "Was he doing anything that seemed shifty? Anything that made it seem like he… well…"

Madam Pomfrey gave him a critical look. "Now, Mr. Potter, we don't suspect you of evil-doing each time you're spotted without Mr. Weasley joined to your hip."

"I suppose not," Harry mumbled. If the Slytherins were going to try something against Draco, he doubted Crabbe was going to be the one to spearhead the effort, but still, it was troubling. "Did you let him see –"

"No, I didn't, Mr. Potter. Nobody has seen Draco. Or you. But it's high time you saw some people. If you hurry you should be able to catch your friends in the Great Hall for supper. Merlin knows you need to eat more."

"Not hungry," Harry mumbled, staring at the floor.

"Of course you're not. I doubt you've had a decent meal in weeks, and your digestive system is completely out of balance. However, you won't recover until you begin to feed yourself properly. If you don't promise me that you'll eat, I'll send that house-elf, Dobby, to pester you until you've eaten a proper dinner. He was another one of your adoring public that made several return trips to my office door."

Harry balked. "If you tell him to make sure I eat enough, he won't let me alone until I'm as wide as Hagrid!"

Madam Pomfrey smiled sweetly at him. "Then I suppose you'd best eat a healthy supper."

Harry grumbled, made one last adjustment to Draco's blanket, and reluctantly began to walk towards the door, but then paused. "Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yes?"

"Can I come back… after supper? Just to… well… to say goodnight or something?"

She smiled sadly at him. "I suppose it can't hurt. A _brief_ visit. Now, run along."

Harry nodded, grabbed Draco's travel pack which had been left underneath the bedside table, and finally left the infirmary. The corridors were empty, and he supposed that was because everyone was at supper already. It was dead quiet, and he liked it that way. Now that he had rested a bit, his memories of the past three weeks, and particularly the last two days, were much clearer than they'd been before he'd fallen asleep. The thoughts bouncing around inside his skull were more than enough to make up for the lack of outside noise.

_What's Crabbe up to? What about Pansy? Where did Dumbledore go? Is Draco going to be okay? Draco... I can't lose him. What's Ron going to say when I get there? Hermione? Hermione won't like it, but she'll be rational about it, but I don't know what I'm going to say to Ron. He's my friend, and Draco's my friend. How can I ever explain to him... what I've been through with Draco... what Draco means to me..._

Harry was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he was almost at his destination before he realized it. As he approached the foyer at the entrance of the Great Hall, two familiar hulking bulks emerged, letting the doors swing shut behind them. Harry's heart jumped, and he dove behind a banister post, then cautiously peeked around it.

Crabbe and Goyle were talking. Or at least, Crabbe was talking, while Goyle continued to stuff the remains of a tart into his mouth. There were two more whole tarts in his other hand. Crabbe, however, didn't have any food, and seemed to be midway through a long argument.

"– not listening to her, and I'm not listening to you. You people have it all backwards. You know what we should do, Greg."

"An' she tol' you to stay out of it," Goyle said around a mouthful. "An' to stay away from him."

"She wanted him, you know." Crabbe almost sounded sullen. "And now... you saw the look on her face when she came back from the infirmary."

"Damn Pomfrey," Goyle grunted. He crammed the last bite of tart into the side of his mouth, and swallowed. "Pansy'll get in. Never seen her so furious."

"I'm gonna get in."

Suddenly, Goyle rounded on Crabbe. "Don't do it, Vince. I swear I'll stop you."

"What're ya gonna do to me, Greg? You really gonna fight me?"

Fists were clenching on both sides, and Goyle leaned over Crabbe menacingly. "If you go and do something stupid, you know I will. I saw the letter your father sent you. I know what you're supposed to do to him. You're gonna fuck up everything!"

For a moment, it almost seemed as if it were going to come to blows, but suddenly, Crabbe pushed past Goyle, bumping hard into his shoulder. Goyle spun around and called after him, "Don't do it, Vince!"

Crabbe didn't even turn around, but gave a clear response with one succinct hand gesture as he stormed off. Harry ducked completely behind the post again as Crabbe stomped by. The sound of the doors to the Great Hall opening again obscured the foul language Harry was sure was coming from Goyle's mouth. He waited until Goyle followed Crabbe's retreat towards the dungeons before peeking out again. A small group of Hufflepuffs made their way past, and when they were halfway up the stairs, Harry cautiously came out from his hiding place.

His mind was reeling. Crabbe was going to kill Draco. It had to be him. Maybe Pansy really had just been frantic over her friend, who had been missing for weeks. Draco _had_ said that Pansy had wanted him for a long time. She might have simply been furious at not being allowed to see Draco, which almost made Harry second guess his reasons for having forced her out. She wasn't the threat, just damned annoying. But Crabbe? Were it not for his menacing stature, he'd seem completely harmless. But then again, maybe Crabbe was taking his chance at glory by assassinating Draco, displacing his former ringleader, and gaining influence amongst the Death Eaters. It made sense. It was damned disconcerting, but it fit.

Feeling nervous all over again from his near miss with Draco's former henchmen, the last thing Harry wanted to do was to face an entire hall full of people. He had even less interest in eating than before. The doors of the Great Hall loomed in front of him, and Harry was sorely tempted to turn around and run back up to the infirmary. What if Crabbe was going to attempt to kill Draco now? Granted, he'd gone towards the Slytherin dungeons, but that didn't mean he wasn't just going there to get some sort of gruesome weapon, and then to go after Draco. Madam Pomfrey had sworn that she'd keep everyone away from Draco, but what if Crabbe was really determined? He might even kill the Nurse to get to Draco!

Harry was about to turn on his heel when the doors swung open again, and a towheaded house-elf burst through.

No, not a house-elf… it was Colin Creevey.

"HARRY! You're out of the hospital wing!"

It was too late to run, and Harry grimaced. "Hullo, Colin."

"Everyone's been going mad waiting for you! They're all in there!" Before Harry could protest, Colin grabbed his wrist and hauled him through the doors. "Everybody! Harry's back!"

The Great Hall was a blur of faces and hands as Colin dragged him through the crowd to where the Gryffindor sixth years were sitting. All around him, people were shouting questions at him.

"Harry! We heard Malfoy was dead, and you killed him!" "Were you really in You-Know-Who's dungeons?" "Did you fight You-Know-Who?" "How did you escape, Harry?" "Harry, did you really pick Malfoy over Ron?" "Is Malfoy dead, Harry?"

Harry kept his eyes downcast so he didn't have to meet anyone's gaze. Suddenly, arms wrapped around him so fiercely that he feared his ribs might crack again, and his face was buried in a pile of bushy brown hair.

"Harry! We went back, but Madam Pomfrey still wouldn't let us in to see you! Hagrid found us and said that you're not angry at us. You just aren't yourself right now – and of course you're not yourself, you've been through hell these past weeks. He said we should let you rest, and he's right, but we missed you so terribly! We should have realized... but Harry..." Hermione finally loosened her death-grip on him. "You'll tell us now, right? What's going on? Oh! You have to be starved! Quick, move over, Seamus. Have something to eat, Harry, and tell us what happened."

Harry was abruptly shoved into a seat, and Parvati began filling a plate for him. "I'm not hungry," Harry muttered.

"But Harry, how can you _not_ be hungry?" Hermione pushed. "How long have you been walking? And even if you used a Weightlessness Charm on Malfoy – you did, didn't you? Oh, you must be exhausted!"

Harry was about to protest again, but he was interrupted. " _Malfoy._ " Ron's choked voice finally broke through the noise of the crowd around him.

Harry turned around in his seat to see his best mate, staring at him guardedly.

"Harry... explain to me... just what the hell is going on with Malfoy... you, and Malfoy."

That was what Harry had been avoiding. "I don't want to talk about this, Ron. Not right now."

If anything, Ron only became more agitated. "I'm not going to let you dodge out of this again! You disappear one night, and all we can find is the Marauder's Map with _your_ _blood_ on it, down in the dungeons, and Malfoy was missing too. A week later, a house-elf shows up, telling us that You-Know-Who has your blood for some Dark magic potion he's going to use to kill you. And that you and Malfoy are travelling together through the forest – you, alone with Malfoy! And then, you show up carrying _Draco-Bloody-Malfoy's_ comatose body as if he were your best mate. You're so fixated on him that you won't even look at us. And you _kicked us out_!"

"Ron, stop it!" Hermione had put a hand on his arm, but Ron yanked his arm away.

Harry didn't pay any attention to Hermione either. "Draco is my friend, Ron!"

There was a collective gasp from the crowd, which caused Harry's blood to boil. "And I suppose you have a problem with that?" Harry shot at the crowd in general, and Ron in particular.

"What do you think?" Ron snapped back. "Of course I have a problem with it! Especially when you croon over him while brushing us off! How can you call that bastard your friend?"

"Let's just say I learned a few things while I was away," Harry said darkly.

"Oh, and what's that? Got a peek inside the mind of Malfoy? What's in there, Harry? A textbook rendition of 'One Hundred Ways to Kill Muggles'? This is _Malfoy_ we're talking about."

Harry didn't even remember getting to his feet, but suddenly, he was looking up at Ron's face from inches away. "No, Ron. _You're_ talking about Malfoy. _I'm_ talking about Draco."

Stunned, whether by the vehemence in Harry's voice or Harry's actual words, Ron didn't move as Harry turned on his heel and made a break for the door. Harry was stomping along so angrily that Gryffindors hurried to clear a path, rather than be bowled over. He was nearing the door when Ron finally yelled from behind him.

"Oh, so it's _Draco_ , now? Why don't you just tell me you're in love with him or something? Harry!"

The sound of the door slamming behind him was the most satisfying thing Harry had heard since arriving back at Hogwarts. He was already halfway up the first flight of stairs before he heard the doors opening again, and the distinctive sound of a crowd following him. He picked up his pace.

Several flights of stairs later, breathing hard, Harry arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady. He hoped desperately that the password hadn't been changed. "Woollywuthers," Harry said flatly.

"Not hardly," the Fat Lady replied.

"Shit."

"That's not it either," she said, sounding even less amused. "And I'd say it's good to see you again, but with a sour expression like that – thank goodness you weren't painted that way!"

Harry squashed an impulse to put his fist through the canvas. "You _know_ this is my house! Just let me in!"

"Doesn't work that way, my dear. You've been here long enough to know. And besides, your friends are coming along now. I'm sure they can give you the password."

Harry looked back over his shoulder and groaned. It seemed every sixth year Gryffindor had followed him – no, it was more like _every_ Gryffindor – with Ron in the lead, followed a step behind by Hermione. Harry looked right past Ron as if he wasn't there. "What's the password, Hermione?"

"Poppycock," she said automatically. "Harry, I don't think –"

But he'd already turned and was climbing through the portrait hole, ignoring her.

"Harry! Wait a minute!" A hand landed on Harry's shoulder, and he was spun around to face Hermione. "You can't keep ignoring us."

"If he's going to be a prat –" Harry pointed over Hermione's shoulder at Ron. "– then I sure as hell can ignore him!"

"What!" Ron barked.

"Well, Harry, what is he supposed to think? What am _I_ supposed to think? You get back, and you can't even be bothered to say hello. We've been worried sick! Ron hardly ate for a week, if you can imagine what it took to push him that far. I couldn't even focus enough to study half the time! And then when you finally come back, you're completely fixated on the person who abducted you in the first place, you kick us out of the infirmary, we don't see another hair of you for hours, and we have no idea what to make of all this! Haven't you missed us?"

Harry stood there, silently fuming. Yes, he missed them. But he was exhausted, worried, upset, and thoroughly sick of people pestering him, as if by virtue of his being Harry Potter, everyone had the right to know what was going on in his brain. Sure, Ron and Hermione were his friends, but right now, they were just two more people in a world of vultures. Always demanding. Always wanting a piece of him. Never letting him alone.

He was ready to turn and storm up to his bed, but Hermione shook his arm once more. "Harry... even if you haven't missed us... we've missed you..."

He was about to shake her off, but then he stopped and finally took a good look at her.

She looked more exhausted than when she'd been using the Time Turner in third year, and had circles under her eyes to rival a raccoon. Her face was pale and drawn, and it seemed like she'd aged at least five years since the start of the school year. Harry swallowed nervously. He didn't want to talk right now. He wanted to be left alone. But Hermione had been nothing but a loyal friend as long as he'd known her, and he'd been so wrapped up in his worry over Draco that he'd treated her terribly. And Ron.

Harry took a slow step to the side, and faced Ron. Ron looked utterly miserable. Harry found he was beginning to feel the same way. He'd been desperate to see his friends for weeks, and now that he had the chance, he'd turned them away. As much as he just wanted everyone to leave him alone, Dumbledore was right. He needed to be with his friends, and he had to face this. But not in front of everyone else in Gryffindor.

"We need to go somewhere," Harry said slowly, "so we can talk."

"We'll rearrange the armchairs!" Lavender Brown squeaked. "Parvati, help me out, and Harry can –"

"No!" Harry said, realizing what she intended. "I need to talk to Hermione and Ron. ALONE." He ignored the disappointed murmur amongst the crowd gathered in the common room, and made a sudden break for the portrait hole with Hermione still clinging to his arm. On the way past, he grabbed Ron, who let out a surprised yelp.

They hurried out the portrait hole, with Harry leading the way. He heard the Fat Lady complain loudly behind him, "Oh, and after all that fuss to get in, there you go, right back out again, no consideration at all. Nice to see you too!" Harry just shook his head as he rounded the corner. There was only one place he'd have the privacy he needed, and that place was on the seventh floor corridor.

Harry rushed down the hall, not looking back. His friends' footsteps followed close behind him. Finally they arrived in the proper corridor. "Oh!" Ron said, apparently just realizing what Harry was doing, as Harry began pacing back and forth in front of the wall. After three quick passes, a door appeared, and Harry let himself in.

The Room of Requirement was vastly different from the last time Harry had entered it. Instead of the large open area for duelling, the room was small and cosy, lit by several dozen floating candles. It was furnished with three plump beanbag chairs arranged in a triangle on a thick plush carpet, with smaller cushions strewn about amongst everything, softening the corners and making the entire room look like the top of an oversized bed. A large tray of snacks with a pitcher of pumpkin juice sat in the corner. Harry pursed his lips. "Even the school itself is determined to feed me," he said dryly.

"Well, somebody has to," Hermione admonished, and she pushed her way past him and settled herself into one of the beanbag chairs. "Seeing as you seem bent on starving yourself, as if it would bring Malfoy back."

Harry winced and followed her into the room. Ron closed the door behind them.

Harry took his time pouring himself a drink, trying to delay just a few more minutes. He sat down heavily with the frosty goblet of juice in his hands, staring down into the liquid as he swirled it. He found himself wishing it were a glass of Firewhiskey, and that he could nurse it slowly and hold off questions until he was drunk. He really didn't want to talk, but he supposed he had to, even if he couldn't tell them everything. There were some things he knew he'd just never be able to share. He could feel his friends staring at him, waiting. "I guess I should start at the beginning."

"Might be nice," Ron said grumpily.

Harry couldn't bring himself to look up as he began his tale, starting with the night he was abducted. It was hard at first, but soon the words began rolling off his tongue, and he felt more like another listener than the actual person telling the story. Waking up in the Malfoy dungeons. His early arguments with Draco. The odd shifts in Draco's attitude. The verbal truce. Draco's audience with Voldemort. And that was when Harry's tale faltered for the first time.

"He was so afraid, Ron," Harry said, finally looking Ron in the face. "He was terrified. And when he came back..." His voice trailed off.

Ron didn't look like he was sure he wanted to hear what Harry might say yet, but Hermione put a hand on Harry's knee. "Go on, Harry."

"I wasn't aware of exactly when he came back down to the dungeon... because... because his father was practising the Cruciatus on me."

Hermione gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Ron, on the other hand, looked even angrier. "Oh, and I suppose the junior bastard joined right in."

Harry sat back sharply. "Haven't you been listening to a damn thing I've been saying?"

"Every word, Harry. So, did he join in?"

The accusation embedded in Ron's voice made Harry want to run from the room, especially knowing the answer to the charge, but he had to tell the truth. "Draco had no choice."

"Bollocks!" As Harry had feared, Ron didn't seem surprised whatsoever.

"That's what I thought at first, too! But think about it. It was a test. He was having reservations about Voldemort, and was thinking about leaving. If he had hesitated when his father practically forced him to do it, he would have been pulled from guard duty, and I never would have escaped."

"He used an Unforgivable Curse on you, and still you're defending him! I still don't understand why you're taking his side, Harry! So you'd better come up with an explanation – a _good_ explanation – fast, or I might have to find a way to revive him just so he can _feel_ it when I beat him to a bloody pulp." By now, Ron had edged his way forward in his seat and looked like he was ready to get up.

Harry leaned forward too. "I can't even _begin_ to explain everything Draco has done. I would never have escaped if Draco hadn't helped me. He _planned_ the whole escape. If it weren't for him, I'd be a corpse back in Voldemort's dungeons!"

"If it weren't for him, none of this would have happened anyway!"

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out; he couldn't argue with that, as much as he wanted to. For several long seconds, he held his stare locked with Ron's, silently fuming.

Hermione finally cut in. "Ron, sit back and calm down. You're not making this any better."

"I could think of a few ways to make it better," Ron grumbled, but Hermione gave him a tug and he let her pull him back into his seat. He sat there shaking his head for a minute before he looked back up at Harry. "Harry, what did Malfoy do to you out there? What could he have done or said to make you actually defend him?"

"A whole hell of a lot, that's what! When he gave me back my wand, he gave up his entire life. You saw me carrying him, but when we first escaped... he had to carry me out of there."

Ron looked away, still scowling.

Harry sighed and leaned his forehead into his hand. He was getting a headache. "I told you, at first, I was trying to manipulate him, hoping to get a chance to escape... but then I started to learn about how he grew up – did you know his father practically brainwashed him?" He glanced up at Ron again. "If you'd grown up the way he did, listening to the same things over and over, you'd be just the same."

Ron looked like he'd suddenly bitten into something disgusting, and was trying not to spit it out. "How could you say that?"

"Easily," Harry said darkly. "You two aren't all that different –"

"WHAT!"

"– and that's probably a big part of why you hate each other so much."

For a long, tense moment, Ron seemed to be fighting with himself over what to do, say, or punch next. Finally, he seemed to compose himself a bit. "Harry, we've been friends for over five years. You know me. We've lived together, fought side-by-side, barely escaped death together –"

"And in case you haven't figured it out yet," Harry cut in, "Draco and I did the exact same things! We travelled together, ate together, slept back to back –"

"For a couple of weeks! You can't possibly get to know somebody like that in a couple of weeks, especially when you've hated him – with good reason – for years! Or have you forgotten about the past five years?"

Harry dropped his head heavily into his hands. This wasn't getting anywhere. Hermione was listening quietly, and Harry had no idea what she was really thinking, but Ron wasn't about to budge anytime soon. _Well, he's going to have to_ , Harry thought bitterly. "Listen, Ron, this is probably just going to make you angrier, but we – Draco and I – shared things over the past two weeks that I can't even begin to explain. After what we went through... Draco is just as important to me as the two of you."

It was definitely not the right thing to say. Ron's eyes went wide, and he stared at Harry as if he had sprouted the head of Medusa out of the side of his neck. "You've got to be hoodwinked or something! What did Malfoy do to you out there?"

"He almost died for me, Ron!" The words were out of Harry's mouth before he even realized it. As soon as he heard what he'd said, however, the hot pain that had been pulsing in his chest for the past two days flared up again. "He saved my life," Harry said, softer this time. "More than once. I saved him once, or at least, cured him from a snakebite. He healed me more than once. And then... I had told him... if our plan to counteract Voldemort's potion didn't work, I _told_ him to kill me, so that Voldemort wouldn't win." He coughed once, and forced himself to take a slow breath before he continued. "He couldn't do it. Even though I'd made him promise... he couldn't kill me. And so he gave himself instead."

By now, tears were starting to blur the edges of Harry's vision, but he didn't care. "I never wanted him to do that. I hadn't even considered that it could have ended that way. While I was… carrying him back… I thought about everything he's really done... what all this must have been like for him. He's already given so much, Ron. He left his home, his family, his future... everything. He gave it all up. His father has disowned him, so he's poor now. The only things he has left are the clothes on his back, his school supplies, and his school robes. He doesn't even have a home to go back to! Voldemort wants him dead, his own housemates want him dead, and _you're not helping_!"

At least Ron had the good grace to look stunned. "What do you want me to do, Harry? Accept him with open arms?"

"It might be a fair start!"

Ron stared at him, open-mouthed, for several long seconds, then shook his head. "You've got to be crazy! He may have done all that, but he's still the bastard who kidnapped you in the first place!"

"Draco has more than made up for his mistakes!" Harry snapped, getting to his feet. "And this isn't getting us anywhere. Come find me when you're ready to listen – and I mean _listen_!" With that, he turned and let himself out the door, leaving two speechless friends in his wake.

The door slammed behind him with a satisfying echo. He was already halfway down the hall when he heard the door open. He turned, expecting to see Ron running after him, either wanting to continue the argument, or to restart it with fists, but it was Hermione, alone.

"Harry, wait." She caught up with him, and he waited silently for her to speak. She gave him a disapproving look that was eerily reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. "You can't deny that Ron has a good point."

"So you're taking his side," he said coldly. He took a step backwards, ready to turn and walk away again, but she caught him by the sleeve.

"No, I'm not! And if you'd listen for a moment, and just hear what I have to say..."

With a grunt of irritation, Harry turned his body squarely towards her, and she let go of his shirt. He didn't say anything, but folded his arms defensively across his chest.

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Ron may have a good point, but I'll admit, we weren't there. We have no idea what the two of you went through. And I may despise Malfoy as much as anybody, but I care about you, Harry, and I trust your judgment. Well, most of the time. I know you wouldn't make this up. I do have to wonder if your perception may be a bit skewed... I mean, after all, you've just been through a terrible ordeal, and who knows what sort of psychological impact this might have had on you?"

Harry merely snorted.

Hermione sighed. "Harry, when Malfoy's house-elf arrived and told us what had happened, and that the two of you had escaped _together_ , it took Ron more than a week to accept that it even _might_ be true. I didn't really want to believe it either. I mean, Harry, it's _Malfoy_. Who could have known? And then, you arrive back, and you're so fixed on Malfoy that you won't even look at us! Ron was trying, he really was, but then you brushed him – and me – aside. First in the infirmary, and then in the Great Hall. And… it's as if you care about Malfoy more than us right now."

"I don't," Harry said hoarsely.

Hermione gave him a patronizing look. "You wanted us to leave back in the infirmary. I can try to understand, but Ron… well… he's Ron. And this is Malfoy we're talking about. And frankly, despite everything you've said about him, it's _still Malfoy_. The idea of the two of you being friends… it's not an easy thing to swallow."

"So you're going to write him off, too, right?"

Hermione shook her head. "As much as I want to hold him responsible for what he did in the first place… what I'm saying is that – for you – I'll give Malfoy a chance. If he really did sacrifice himself... well... that says it all, doesn't it?" She still seemed hesitant, but her eyes were sincere.

Harry found himself dropping his arms to his side. "You mean that?"

She nodded.

Harry could feel the tension in his shoulders ease as gratitude flooded through him and he smiled. "Thanks, Hermione."

She gave a tentative smile in return. "I can't promise much… but I can try. If there's anything else… just let me know."

Harry cocked his head, thinking, then looked her square in the eye. "There's one more thing, then. Draco... well, he doesn't use his surname anymore. I'm not sure what he's going to do, but... his father disowned him, and he left anyway. Can you call him by his first name?"

Hermione frowned. "We'll see about that, Harry. When he wakes up."

Harry felt the hot spot of pain in his chest turn cold, and he looked down. " _If_ he wakes up. Dumbledore said he was going to see if a theory of his was correct... and maybe he'll bring back something that can save Draco, but if he can't... I don't know what's going to happen." He looked up at Hermione again. "I don't know what I'll do if he dies, Hermione. I don't know if I can take that."

"You really care about him, don't you?" she asked softly.

Harry nodded. "I do."

Hermione studied him for a moment, and then threw her arms around Harry in a tight hug. "I missed you, Harry. And so did Ron."

Awkwardly, Harry returned the hug. "Thanks, Hermione. I missed you, too."

After a moment, Hermione broke the hug, and she quickly wiped her eyes. Harry pretended not to notice. "I'm going to go back and talk to Ron. I told him to stay there. I might be able to talk some sense into him. I doubt he'll ever want to become buddies with Mal – er... Draco, but hopefully I can convince him not to curse him on sight. You go on, Harry. I'll meet you back up in Gryffindor Tower."

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Hermione. I don't think I want to go to Gryffindor Tower quite yet. I might go down to the kitchens and pinch some snacks. I should probably say 'hi' to Dobby and Biddy while I'm down there. Hopefully, by the time I get back to Gryffindor Tower, you'll have diverted some of the crowd... please?" He gave her a hopeful look.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "I'll handle it, Harry. Now, go eat something."

Harry laughed lightly. "Okay, okay."

He watched her as she disappeared back into the Room of Requirement, and felt a bit of the earlier sense of hollowness return to his gut. No, it was just his stomach rumbling; he really did need to eat something. Resignedly, he pulled his Invisibility Cloak out of the pack, covered himself with it, and made his way towards the kitchens.

*********

Biddy wasn't in the kitchens, which Harry supposed was just as well. He was more than thoroughly occupied with Dobby, plus a dozen other house-elves who wouldn't let him leave until he'd eaten enough to feed the entire Weasley household. By the time he had satisfied Dobby's questions and had eaten enough to placate the other house-elves, he was exhausted and painfully stuffed. For a brief moment, he simply wanted to return to Gryffindor Tower, climb the stairs to the sixth year boys' room, and collapse into his four-poster. He'd sincerely thought that he would never see it again. Just to feel the cushiony mattress, the soft blankets, and the plump pillows would be like heaven after using the cold ground as a bed for two weeks, and a dungeon floor for the week before that. However, he couldn't go there yet.

Halfway up the main staircase, Harry took a turn down the third floor corridor and made his way to the hospital wing.

There was a soft light still glowing in the infirmary, and Harry entered to find Madam Pomfrey sitting in a chair by Draco's bedside, reading a book. She looked like a cross between a sentry guard and a mother keeping vigil over her ailing child. It was an odd combination. She looked up sharply when she heard Harry's footsteps, and for an instant, Harry swore he saw her hand go for her wand. She relaxed when she recognized who he was.

"Mr. Potter, I trust you've had an adequate supper."

Harry gave her a chagrined expression. "The way those house-elves made me eat, I'm amazed I can walk."

"Good. I told them to be on the lookout for you, and to make sure you'd eaten enough." She put her book aside, and took a good look at him. "You look a little less peaky than you did when you arrived, but you should be up in your house by now. A brief nap in the afternoon is not enough to compensate for the ordeal you just went through."

"Curfew isn't for another fifteen minutes," Harry pointed out as he moved to stand by Draco's bedside, "and I wanted to come and see how he's doing."

Madam Pomfrey stood beside him. "The same, but we didn't expect anything else."

"Yeah, I know," Harry whispered hoarsely.

"He's no worse, though."

"Has anyone else come to see him?" Harry asked, trying to change the subject, hoping that he was keeping the nervousness out of his voice.

"No, Harry. There has been no suspicious activity, I promise. Nobody has visited. Wait, I take that back. He had one visitor: a very distraught house-elf who called herself Biddy."

"So that's where she was," Harry said absently. He took one of Draco's hands and automatically began kneading it, trying to look casual. "His hands are cold. Is there anything you can do for that?"

"A warming charm, I suppose, and perhaps something to aid circulation. Here, move back for a moment."

Harry stepped back as the Nurse made a complex set of motions with her wand over each of Draco's hands and then again over his whole body. She tucked her wand in her apron and reached out to touch Draco's hands again. "Yes, that should do nicely for now."

Harry gave Draco's fingers a quick squeeze. "It's better. How long will the charms last?"

"They're supposed to last twenty-four hours, but I'll check them again in the morning." She paused for a moment. "You're really worried about him, aren't you?"

"I am. Any word from Professor Dumbledore?"

"Not yet, but somehow, I suspect that you'll be the first person he notifies when he returns."

Harry considered this for a moment. "What about Snape – er, Professor Snape? He's Draco's Head of House. Where's he? You said he wasn't here."

"Professor Snape has been gone since about a week after you left." She sounded distressed over the fact.

Harry was surprised by this news for all of two seconds. He was pretty sure he knew exactly where Snape had gone. Of course, if Snape were really loyal to Dumbledore, why wasn't he back yet? And thinking of that, what had happened to Voldemort? But that was another matter. "What about Potions classes?" Harry asked, trying to edge deeper into the topic.

"Professor Dumbledore found a temporary replacement, but we're all quite anxious about Professor Snape's absence."

"Do you know where he –"

"Harry, that's quite enough of that," Madam Pomfrey said shortly, effectively cutting him off. "We can only hope that Professor Snape is still alive and well, and that he will be returning to us shortly. Hopefully with good news."

"Oh, yeah. That would be good," Harry said sullenly. Where was Snape the _one_ time in his life that Harry _wanted_ to see him? If he _was_ loyal to Dumbledore, he would probably be able to help Draco better than anyone. Perhaps he had been able to leave Voldemort's little party after things went wrong. But then why wouldn't he have come back already? Harry shook his head to himself and looked back down at Draco.

"I think you had probably best be getting back to Gryffindor now. It's late and I'm sure the curfew will be quite strict tonight, considering your arrival."

"But Draco –"

"I promise, Draco will be fine. There's nothing that you can do to help him tonight, and you certainly need a good night's sleep. Shall I give you a potion for dreamless sleep to take back with you? You might need it."

"No, thank you," Harry said quickly. Knowing that further delays would be useless, Harry looked at Draco's face one last time for the evening. He appeared so peaceful, really. All the lines of stress and worry were gone from his face and he looked almost angelic. If Harry didn't think about it, he could almost convince himself that Draco was just enjoying a very good nap. But he wasn't, and Harry couldn't stop thinking about it. He knew exactly how bad the situation really was.

Finally, Harry turned and walked out of the infirmary without another word.

*********

Hermione had kept her promise, and by the time Harry arrived in the Gryffindor common room, it was almost empty. It was also obvious that his housemates were exercising very tenuous restraint by not mobbing him at the door. Most of the younger students had, apparently, already gone to bed. A few fifth years remained, and some of the seventh years, but it appeared that every sixth year student, except Ron, was waiting by the fireplace. Ginny was sitting with them, next to Dean. One large armchair was conspicuously empty, and Harry knew they were waiting for him. He walked to the chair without making eye contact, perched on the edge of the cushion, and finally faced his friends.

"Hi, everyone." Nobody said a word. Harry gritted his teeth. This wasn't going to be as easy as he'd wanted. "Er... where's Ron?"

"He went upstairs," Dean answered. "Said he had a lot to think about."

"Oh, yeah. He might," Harry said. He looked wistfully at the stairs to the dormitories, wishing he could escape. He didn't want to do this. Yes, it was better than dealing with the entire school, and yes, he should probably tell them a bit of what was going on, but –

"Harry, are you even going to look at us?" Ginny demanded, pulling Harry back to reality.

"Yes," Harry said, but it came out like a protest. "It's just that –"

"It's just that _what_? Ron and Hermione weren't the only two people worried about you, in case you'd forgotten. There's a reason everyone was trying to ask you a million questions!"

"I know, but –"

"So are you going to talk to us, or are you going to go up to your bed and sulk over Malfoy?"

Ginny's words felt like a slap across the face, and Harry found himself unintentionally edging away from her. She continued to glare at him, and finally, he let his shoulders slump and he looked down at the floor. "Go ahead. Ask. I'm too tired to argue anyway." He glanced up at Ginny, who was now giving him an encouraging smile, although he detected a hint of smugness in it. S _he's going to be a scary witch someday_ , he thought to himself.

"How did you get back here, Harry?" Lavender blurted out, wide-eyed. "They said you were at least a hundred miles to the north! You didn't really walk all that way, did you?"

It was all Harry could do not to snort at the ridiculous question. "Why do you think it took so long to get back?"

If anything, Lavender's eyes only got bigger. "But weren't there monsters in the woods? It must have been terrible!"

"The Forbidden Forest is south of the school grounds. Where Draco and I travelled was all just normal woods. Nothing really dangerous."

"Muggle beasts, then?" Parvati jumped in.

"Well, we had a problem with a snake –"

"Did it _bite_ you?" Lavender squeaked.

"No, it bit Draco. But don't worry, we took care of that."

"Oh, well... I'm glad, you know, that –"

"Harry, I hate to cut in, but I've got to know, how did you manage to travel that far with _Malfoy_ without killing each other?" That was Seamus.

Harry cocked his head at him in irritation. "Didn't Hermione explain it to you?"

"Well, she did, but I have a hard time believing –"

"Well, believe it," Harry said coldly.

"Harry...?" Neville this time.

"Yes, Neville?"

"Did Malfoy really save your life?"

In a heartbeat, the guilt and hollowness came flooding back, and Harry let his head droop forward. "Yes, he did. More than once."

For a long time the room was silent, save for the warm crackle of the fireplace. It felt dreadfully incongruous with how Harry was feeling. When the questions finally began again, Harry answered them blankly, dutifully, but he hardly felt like he was present. When he finally felt he'd been there long enough, he was glad to escape to his dormitory room until he remembered that Ron was waiting up there for him. He reached the top of the stairs, gritted his teeth, and pushed the door open.

Ron was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling where he'd stuck a Chudley Cannons poster on the first day of the year. Seven orange-clad figures zoomed around on the large piece of parchment, and Harry was amused to notice that they didn't seem as disoriented as they'd been when the poster had first been flipped horizontally. At least, they didn't keep crashing into each other anymore.

"You going to come in, or just stand there staring at my poster?" Ron said, snapping Harry from his thoughts.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Er, hi, Ron."

"Hullo, Harry," Ron replied neutrally, still staring at the ceiling. "Everybody still downstairs?"

"They are." Harry sat down on the edge of his bed, as gingerly as he'd sat on the armchair. _I had planned to run up to my bed and take a flying leap onto the mattress when I got here_ , he thought ruefully. "So," he said slowly, "what do you think?"

It took Ron a minute to answer. "I think... I'm still thinking about it." He sighed. "I don't know, Harry. I'm not saying that I could never get used to the idea, but right now, I don't know how to just accept Malfoy. It's too sudden. Maybe you had some life-altering bonding experience with him, but in case you forgot, I wasn't there to witness it. And then... you wouldn't talk to us. I guess I don't know what to think quite yet."

"I suppose that's as much as I can expect right now."

Ron finally rolled on his side to face Harry. "You're my best mate, Harry. I might not be able to change my opinion of Malfoy overnight, but I'll work on it. _For you_ , not for him. Just so you're aware of it."

Harry ventured a small smile. "Does that mean you're not going to hex him?"

"Oh, I didn't promise that," Ron said with a wave of his hand, "but I promise it won't be anything too deadly."

Immediately, Harry's smile fell. "He doesn't need much help in that department."

Ron had the courtesy to look a bit concerned. "Wait, is he actually dying? Or is he recovering?"

"He's still alive, but he's not... not quite here, somehow. I can't explain it." Harry found he had a hard time getting the words out. "But if Dumbledore doesn't find an answer, which is why he left, then… Draco will die anyway."

Ron thought about it for a moment. "Hermione and I have survived five full years as your friends. I'm sure a couple of weeks won't kill off Malfoy."

Harry looked at Ron with a strange combination of surprise and amusement. "You know, somehow, that actually makes me feel better."

"Good."

"But probably not the way you wanted."

Ron furrowed his eyebrows. "Why's that?"

"Because you admitted that he was my friend."

Ron made a face. "I did say that, didn't I?"

"You did." Harry smiled. "Oh, and Ron... I know this is trivial, but did anyone happen to find and save the Marauder's Map for me?"

Ron didn't answer immediately, but instead, he rolled to the other side of his bed, reached over the side of the mattress, and began digging around beneath the bed. He spoke as he dug. "You know, after Snape had this, it was one hell of a trick trying to get it back. He must have seen you with it before or something, because when I tried to ask for it, he raved on and on about it being an obvious piece of Dark magic, and how it shouldn't be left in the wrong hands... which is when Dumbledore agreed with him and took it. Later that night – ah, here we go." He heaved himself fully back onto the mattress and handed the parchment across to Harry. "Later that night, it mysteriously appeared, folded neatly, under my pillow. I almost crushed it."

Harry accepted the map gratefully. "Dumbledore's pretty good, isn't he?"

"That's not what you were saying early this summer."

Harry shrugged. "He said he'd protect Draco, even after... well... everything."

Ron merely grunted.

"Ron..." Harry started, but then he finally sagged back against the mattress. "I guess we'll talk more later."

"We will. And I'm sure you could use some sleep."

"I probably could, but I don't think I could fall asleep right now, even if I wanted to."

Ron frowned. "Didn't Madam Pomfrey give you something?"

"She tried."

Ron chuckled. "Should have known. Well," he said, gathering himself up and pulling back the sheets. "I'm ready for bed, and you should at least try to get some sleep."

"Really, Ron, since when did you start sounding like Hermione?" Harry was rewarded with a pillow hitting him in the face. "Good aim! Maybe you should play Chaser this year!" He threw the pillow back and Ron caught it easily.

"Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Ron."

Harry was just pulling the curtains of his four-poster shut when Ron spoke again, softer this time. "I missed you, Harry."

Harry closed his eyes. "I missed you too, Ron." He pulled the curtains the rest of the way shut and flopped back on his bed. After a moment, he heard the door open, faint whispering, and the shuffle of feet. _Dean, Seamus, and Neville. I'll bet they were waiting right outside the door until Ron and I stopped talking._ Harry supposed he should have felt irritated at them for listening in, but instead, he was just grateful that they hadn't interrupted. He didn't have the energy left to be irritated.

After a few minutes, the lights went out, and Harry lay staring at the ceiling through the darkness. It was the most physically comfortable he'd been in three weeks. His own pillow, clean blankets. He still had his day clothes on, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to sleep quite yet. He was still exhausted, and the bed was wonderfully comfortable. After sleeping on the ground or on a dungeon floor for three weeks, he'd never take a pillow for granted again. The bed felt so good, and his body was screaming for sleep, but he couldn't. Something was definitely missing. _Draco_.

When he finally heard Seamus snoring, he knew that everyone else had already fallen asleep, and he could move. A quick check of the Marauder's Map showed Filch and Mrs. Norris down in the dungeons, on their way to the Potions classroom, where Peeves seemed to be bouncing around the supplies storeroom. Harry couldn't help but snicker as he imagined the damage being inflicted. At least Filch would be busy for a while. There was no other activity on the map. Madam Pomfrey was in her personal room, adjacent to the infirmary, and Draco was still in his bed, where he had been all day. And where Harry was going.

Harry pulled back the curtains slowly, making sure he didn't awaken anyone. He quietly snuck out of the room, pulled his Invisibility Cloak out of the pack which he was still carrying, and wrapped it around himself. Taking care over the squeaky spots in the floor, he moved through the common room. The only person left down there was Hermione, sitting by the fireplace with her nose stuck in a book. Harry was briefly tempted to stop and talk to her, but if he did, she'd never let him out of Gryffindor Tower. Feeling almost guilty for using such a cheap diversion to sneak past his friend, Harry pulled out his wand, aimed it at the far window, and whispered almost inaudibly, " _Alohomora!_ "

With the assistance of the driving wind and rain outside, the window swung open. Rain blew in, spattering Hermione and her book, and extinguishing some of the candles. "Oh!" Hermione cried, and hurried to shut the window. Using the temporary distraction, Harry hurried out the portrait hole. The Fat Lady snorted once in her sleep and resumed snoring contentedly.

It seemed to take forever to reach the hospital wing, and even longer to cross the floor to Draco's bed, but as Harry took the last few steps, time seemed to slow down and almost stop. Out of the vague shadows appeared the details of a face that was now so familiar Harry thought he might be able to recognize it by touch alone. There was something about the way the school glowed at night that turned Draco's face into a porcelain carving. The image, highlighted by the soft blues of residual magic, reminded Harry with painful clarity of the way Draco had looked in the fairy ring. He'd felt so close to Draco that night. Of course, he'd assumed it to be the effects of the fairy magic. But here and now, there were no fairies to cause the surge of heat in his chest, or the tightness in his throat, but they were there all the same.

After standing there for a long moment, Harry pointed his wand towards the door of Madam Pomfrey's private chambers and whispered a muffling spell. He pulled up the chair close to Draco's bedside and sat down. It wasn't really as if his being there could _do_ anything to help Draco, but it helped ease Harry's mind a bit to sit beside him, knowing Draco was still breathing. And maybe, on some level, Draco could tell he was there. Maybe he'd appreciate the company. In the very least, Harry wanted to think Draco wouldn't mind.

"I don't know," Harry said aloud, slouching deep into his chair. "Would it bother you if you were to wake up now, and here I was, sitting here staring at you?"

Draco, of course, didn't reply, although some part of Harry's imagination painted a picture of Draco sitting up and smirking at him, saying something like, _Everyone loves to stare at me, Harry. I'm like a sculpture on a dais. These fine, chiselled features, this incredible body, this immaculate hair –_

"You've got a pointy chin," Harry answered his own thoughts. "And you're as thin as I am. But you're right about the hair."

_Of course. Prat._

"I miss that, you know."

_What, my gorgeous hair?_

"Your obnoxious sense of humour."

_You're no better._

"I know. It was fun though. Going back and forth like that, without... without wanting to... to fight each other."

_It was entertaining. I wouldn't have traded it for the world._

Harry choked at his mental dialogue. "But you did trade it for the world. You shouldn't have, Draco."

_Of course I should have! Don't be so selfish!_

Harry sat up. "Selfish? How the fuck am I being selfish?"

_You wanted me to kill you – don't you know that would have killed me? How awful it would have been?_

"And this isn't awful for me now?" Harry blurted out. "To see you like this?"

_I never said Slytherins weren't self-serving._

"How is it self-serving to sacrifice your own life? Why'd you do it, Draco?" Harry felt himself starting to lose control. "Tell me why!"

_You know why. We both do._

"But why the hell does it have to be you? I was supposed to die! _Why you?_ " Harry slammed his hands onto the side of Draco's mattress in frustration. "After everything we went through! Why did it happen like that? Why can't everything just be simple! And why –" Harry choked and squeezed his eyes shut. "Why did I figure it out too late?"

He waited for the silent response from his mind's image of Draco, but there was silence. He opened one eye, then the other. Draco was still laying there, eyes closed, motionless as a statue, not that Harry had expected anything different. He'd just hoped. He tried to imagine Draco sitting up again, looking at him, but the image was lost. His chest constricted at the loss. "Draco?" Nothing. "Answer me, damn it! Please… Draco…"

" _PETRIFICUS TOTALUS_!"

In a heartbeat, Harry's body froze around him. If it could have moved, his heart would have leapt into his throat. He tried to cry out, even though he knew he couldn't. _But Madam Pomfrey will have heard the hex_! Harry thought to himself. _She'll come running in any second!_ Then Harry remembered that he'd placed the muffling spell on the door. _Shit_.

He didn't have time for any more thoughts before his attacker walked into view. _Pansy Parkinson_.

"So, if it isn't the Potty Potter, crooning over the comatose body of his rescuer. How romantic." She pushed his frozen body back into his chair and leaned in close over him. "You wouldn't let me in to see Draco before, but you can't stop me now. Oh, I'm sure you want to talk to me, and say some very rude things. It's much more pleasant this way."

Pansy's hand lashed out suddenly and struck him across the cheek. Had Harry not been Petrified, he was sure his head would have snapped clear around backwards.

"It's because of _you_ that Draco destroyed his entire future. Draco was so wonderful." She sounded almost wistful. "He was smart, and handsome, and everyone just _knew_ he was going to be great. He had so much promise."

She was pacing in front of the bed, not really looking at Draco. "The Dark Lord wanted him before he was even of age. Think of the _honour_ , Potter! You can't begin to understand… your type could never understand. To be chosen so young, for such a great honour… even the Dark Lord knew he would be great! One of the most powerful Death Eaters, even greater than his father! Draco deserved so much more. He deserved _me_. And you ruined him."

Harry wanted to struggle, but he couldn't even move enough to do that. All he could do was sit back and listen to Pansy prattle on. It seemed like all her anger was directed at Harry. She sounded more like she wanted to kill Harry, and to snog Draco rather than to hurt him.

_That's disgusting._

"I was going to marry him, you know."

_Fat chance of that, you pug-faced cow,_ Harry thought to himself, but the thought came through in Draco's voice.

"But not any more," she continued. "A Parkinson could never marry a blood-traitor. It would be a disgrace. I can't believe that it's come to this. He was my Draco. He was _supposed_ to be mine! And that's why I have to be the one to kill him."

_NO!_ Harry was stunned. After all that, she _was_ planning to kill Draco. Harry had reported his suspicions. So why wasn't Madam Pomfrey standing guard? She'd promised she wouldn't let anyone near Draco! Where was Dumbledore? Where was _anybody_?

"I don't want to, of course, but there's no other way it could be. And even Draco would understand, if he were in his right mind… but he's not. Not anymore." Pansy held up a phial. "But this isn't my fault, Potter. You did it to him." She turned towards Draco.

_Merlin, please stop her! Anybody, stop her!_

"Oh, and Potter," she said over her shoulder, "I think there's enough in here for two. That can be your last thought… Draco died because of you, and his sacrifice was in vain anyway. But you can watch him die first. Enjoy." She turned back, and reached to uncap the phial.

"STUPEFY!"

Harry wasn't even sure if he'd thought or heard it, but in the next second, Pansy toppled to the floor, and there was the sound of breaking glass as the phial shattered. An instant later, a dark hulk moved into view and bent low over Pansy. The person turned around holding Pansy's wand and muttered, " _Finite Incantatem._ "

Harry's body felt like water bursting out of a dam, and he almost fell out of his chair as the charm was removed. Through his shock and the shadows, he finally managed to focus on the face of his, and Draco's, rescuer.

"Crabbe?"

"Potter," came the grunt-like reply.

"But I thought... weren't you supposed... what's going on here?"

"Yeah, I was supposed to kill him," Crabbe said. He didn't sound happy about it. "My dad told me to do it before Pansy could, so I could take credit. But I couldn't."

"Couldn't... you _weren't_ going to kill him? But... why?"

"He was good to me. He was the only person who ever was. I couldn't just forget."

"But what about Goyle?"

"Greg was more... in it for himself. Hung out with Draco mostly because he figured Draco would be in tight with the Dark Lord someday. When we heard what Draco had done, we both knew we were gonna take different sides."

"You wanted to stop Pansy... and he wanted to keep you from interfering," Harry said, suddenly understanding.

"You shoulda seen him when he read the letter my dad sent, telling me to kill Draco first. He swore he'd either use the Imperius to make me do it, or he'd stop me from getting in Pansy's way. He didn't want to curse me though, if he could help it. Been friends too long. Huh. You would think being friends with Draco woulda meant something too."

Harry shook his head to himself. This was all coming too fast. "Wait... where's Goyle, then?"

"I knocked him out. Put a Sleeping Draught in the tart he brought back from dinner for his bedtime snack. He eats too much."

The abrupt release of tension combined with the memory of the Sleeping Draught incident from his second year, and suddenly Harry started laughing. Insanely. Crabbe just stared at him dumbly until he caught his breath. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to laugh... not at you. It was just –"

"Nerves. I get it. I'm not as dumb as people think."

Harry sat up a little straighter and took a good look at Vincent Crabbe. "No, you're not," Harry said softly.

"Besides, that was cunning – not just anyone would think of putting a Sleeping Draught in a dessert."

It was all Harry could do not to burst out laughing all over again. "No, they wouldn't." He looked down at Pansy. "What are we going to do with her?"

Crabbe shrugged. "Hadn't thought that far ahead. Dumbledore ain't here, is he?"

"No," Harry said anxiously. "He left, and I don't think he's back yet."

"Unfounded speculation, I assure you both," came a man's voice from the doorway.

Harry jumped out of his chair and spun around to see Dumbledore walking swiftly towards them. "Professor!"

The Headmaster waved his hand in the air, and the torches flared to life, bathing the entire scene in a yellow glow. He looked down at Pansy's slumped body on the floor, and at the broken glass over a small wet patch near her right hand. "I shall call Kingsley Shacklebolt at once. Harry, if you would so kindly remove your excellent muffling spell from Madam Pomfrey's doorway and call her in?"

"Er, yes, sir," Harry said, feeling embarrassed, even as he obliged. A moment later, he came back from the door with a dishevelled but alert Madam Pomfrey trailing behind.

"Albus! You're back – good heavens! What happened to –"

"She's not injured, Poppy, merely Stunned. And I would suggest she remain that way until the Aurors arrive."

"Aurors!"

"She was going to murder Draco!" Harry announced, feeling a surge of fury at the school Nurse. "You said you were going to keep people away from him!"

"But I had an alarm rigged," she said in dismay. "It should have told me if anyone entered the infirmary."

"Oh, brilliant wandwork!" Harry snapped.

"Harry, you will refrain from addressing members of my staff in such a manner." Dumbledore looked at him severely.

Harry was too angry to be cowed. "Her faulty alarm almost got Draco killed!"

Dumbledore frowned, then furrowed his eyebrows. "Her alarm was perfectly functional. Harry... what is hanging from that chain around your neck?"

Harry's jaw fell open. His fingers were almost numb as he reached inside his collar and pulled the Mislocator into plain view. "I... I forgot I had it. I've been wearing it for so long... I just forgot it was there." He looked pitifully towards Madam Pomfrey. "I'm sorry... I had no idea..."

Madam Pomfrey was fluttering one hand against her chest – a look very incongruous with her usual demeanour. "Quite all right, Potter. I'm as stunned as you are. Albus?"

Silently, Dumbledore reached out, and without taking the Mislocator from Harry, he twisted the dial until the red mark realigned with the "N". Instantaneously, a terrible wailing sound filled the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey took out her wand and yelled something barely audible over the noise. A second later, the room was silent again.

"Well," Dumbledore said, sounding falsely cheerful, "we now know Madam Pomfrey's Alarm Charm is exemplary."

"Did you say something?" Crabbe said loudly, twisting his index finger in his right ear.

Dumbledore smiled. "Mr. Crabbe, while I didn't see everything, I daresay my powers of speculation are excellent. I wish to commend you for your actions tonight."

Crabbe looked confused, cocking his head one way, then the other, as if he couldn't quite hear Dumbledore. "No, I don't have a cat."

Harry couldn't quite suppress a snicker. Apparently Crabbe's ears were still ringing from the alarm. He clapped Crabbe on the shoulder and said loudly in his ear, "He means, good job!"

"Oh! Thank you, sir." Crabbe puffed out his chest proudly, and Harry suddenly remembered just how seldom he'd been praised in his life, according to Draco.

Dumbledore nodded. "I would like you to stay with Madam Pomfrey and guard Miss Parkinson until the Aurors arrive."

Crabbe turned his ear towards Dumbledore, and Harry translated again. "Stay here and guard the bitch!" He pointed down at Pansy.

Crabbe grinned, and for a moment, Harry swore he was about to salute the Headmaster. "Yes, sir!"

"Very good. And now, Harry, if you'll follow me to my office."

"But... but what about Draco? You said you were looking for a way to bring him back! Did you find –"

"I did find something, and for that, you will need to follow me to my office. If you wish to save Draco, you must trust me."

Harry was going to protest again, but he couldn't. He couldn't put Draco at risk. "Yes, Professor."

"Good. Poppy, don't move Miss Parkinson or the broken glass until the Aurors arrive." And with that, Dumbledore turned and walked away so fast that he was almost to the door before Harry started following after him.

Harry was always taken a bit by surprise at the speed and strength with which Dumbledore moved. A man of his age shouldn't be able to move so well, but then, Dumbledore was no ordinary man. Harry was hard-pressed to keep up. Before he knew it, they had arrived at the old gargoyle.

"Pineapple," Dumbledore said, and the gargoyle jumped aside.

"Pineapple?" Harry repeated.

"Ah yes, I decided that too many sweets were unhealthy for a man of my age," Dumbledore answered offhandedly as he climbed the spiralling staircase. "It wouldn't do for me to slow down now, would it?"

"No, I guess not."

The door to the Headmaster's office opened, and Harry followed Dumbledore in. First, the Headmaster went straight to the fireplace, threw in a pinch of powder, and stuck his head in the flames. Harry assumed he was calling Kingsley Shacklebolt. The conversation was brief, and Dumbledore smartly brushed himself off and walked to his desk. Before he had even settled into his chair, however, Harry's impatience got the best of him and he jumped out of his seat. "What did you find, sir? Can we save Draco? What's wrong with him? If he's still alive, why won't he wake up?"

"Harry, Harry!" Dumbledore raised his hands, giving Harry a disturbing flash of déjà vu. "Sit down, and listen. What I'm about to discuss with you is some very profound magic, and I need your full attention... if we are to save Draco."

"Oh." Harry dropped heavily back down into his chair.

"First, I should tell you that we are not sure what has become of Lord Voldemort."

"What does that mean?"

For a moment, Dumbledore looked very tired. "It means that since the night of the eclipse, and Voldemort's failed attempt to take your life, I have been unable to detect any sign of him. It was reported to me that he had a rather nasty reaction to Draco's efforts, and was taken somewhere by his closest followers. Since then, he has been completely inactive, or shielded from detection more fully than ever before."

"He's gone into hiding?"

"We do not know, Harry. But those are questions for another time. At the moment, we cannot do anything regarding Voldemort. I merely felt that you had the right to know. Right now, our priority is Draco's life."

Harry nodded emphatically. "What did you find, sir? You said you had a theory... was it correct?"

"My theory must be correct, for there is no other explanation that would account for all I have seen. However, before I venture further, I must be absolutely certain. Otherwise, any attempt that we make to save Draco may put both of you at further risk."

Harry sat up a little straighter in his seat. "Both of us? You mean me, too? At risk? For what?"

Dumbledore didn't answer for a moment, but instead rose slowly from his chair and walked around to stand in front of Harry. "Although this may be an uncomfortable thing for you, with your permission, I would like to perform Legilimency on you."

Instantly, Harry's heart began thudding faster in his chest. "Why?" he asked edgily.

"Because in order to ascertain exactly what happened, I must look at the events leading up to Draco's sacrifice. A retelling of the tale, especially from a person so emotionally entrenched in the situation, might leave out vital clues."

"But... why can't... is there any other way?"

"We could use the Pensieve," Dumbledore said evenly, "but that could take hours. Draco does not have the luxury of that time."

"Won't Legilimency take time, too?" Harry challenged.

"When Professor Snape cast Legilimens on you, what did you experience?"

Harry thought back. "It was like I was trapped inside my head for a moment, and there was a rush of memories, just swirling by so fast I could barely – oh. It goes quickly, doesn't it?"

"It can."

Harry squirmed. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to have his mind flayed open again as Snape had done. But then, this wasn't Snape. And he was doing it to help Draco. "All right, go ahead. I'm ready."

He shut his eyes and braced himself for the spell to come. Instead, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find himself looking into a pair of sparkling blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles. Dumbledore was crouched down in front of him. "No. Keep your eyes open. This is rather different than Professor Snape's method. Relax."

In the next instant, Harry felt something move through his mind like a crisp breeze though the dry leaves of late autumn. As it brushed through, it seemed to catch little snippets of memories, causing them to surface ever so briefly. Hints of emotions, familiar sights he couldn't quite see clearly. The perspective was strange, almost as if he were experiencing his memories from the point of view of an external observer. There he and Draco were, arguing in the dungeons. Voldemort. Pain. Draco crying. Running along the riverbed, trying to escape the Death Eaters. Then came the leaf-fight. An ugly teddy bear. Draco's torturous visions. Wading into the river together. Glowing balls of light. Fairy rings. The fight. Desperation. Elation. Tenderness, sleepiness, and mumbled words. Distress. Moonrise. Dancing. Clinging desperately. Fading away.

The last hint of a memory was of Draco telling him something, but the words were muffled. He was sure that he needed to know what Draco had said, but he had been losing consciousness in that memory, and it was too hazy, and it went by too fast. Then it was over. Harry blinked his eyes to find a watery view of the Headmaster looking back at him with deep concern. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"I... yeah, just let me..." He pulled his glasses off and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He was shaking slightly, and his limbs seemed heavier than they'd been only moments before. "I feel like I just relived the entire last three weeks."

"In a way, you just did." Dumbledore stood and leaned back against his desk. "Harry, as you were falling asleep the night before the eclipse, do you actively remember saying anything peculiar?"

"No... I... Draco said I was talking in my sleep. He'd used a sleep-aid charm on me. I don't remember much of anything from that night. Or... I didn't. Now I feel like there's something I should remember from that, but I don't. What did you see, sir?"

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, but he completely ignored Harry's question. "And on the night of the eclipse itself, do you remember anything Draco might have said? Anything unusual while you were starting to lose consciousness?"

Once again, Dumbledore must have seen something in one of those hazy memories; Harry was sure of it. Perhaps, if he was vague enough, Dumbledore would tell him what he'd seen. "It was all really fuzzy. He had tried something through the link the potion had made between us. I could _feel_ him through it, although I'm not sure that makes much sense. Does it?"

"It does," Dumbledore said neutrally. "Go on."

Harry stifled his frustration. "I told him not to bother with whatever he was trying, because I could tell it wasn't going to work. And then… I said that I wanted him to keep his promise to me that... this is going to sound awful, but –"

"Harry, I am aware that you asked Draco to kill you himself if it seemed Voldemort was going to be successful."

"Oh, yeah." He gave a weak laugh. "You would know, wouldn't you?"

"I would. But do you remember anything after that point?"

"Not really," Harry admitted, carefully avoiding Dumbledore's eyes, "but while you were looking through my memories... I thought I saw something there. It's like the answer for an exam that you _know_ you should remember, but the harder you try, the more it slips away... you know what I mean. You didn't do anything to the memory, did you?"

"I would never alter your memories, Harry. I was merely an observer."

Harry could feel the frustration grinding at him from the inside. "Well, Professor, what did you observe?"

Dumbledore was still for a moment, then moved back around the desk to his chair and sat down heavily. He leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his hands in front of his face. "Do you remember what I told you about the sacrifice your mother made for you?"

In an instant, Harry's heart stuck in his throat. Torn between irritation at not having his question answered, and surprise at the sudden reference to his mother's death, Harry couldn't even nod, but Dumbledore simply continued.

"Your mother was willing to put your life before her own. At the time, you were too young to even be aware of her sacrifice. A baby is unable to knowingly return love to its parents in the same way an adult or even a self-aware child is. Also, the sacrifice was simple, and pure. It was facilitated by a spell, but not directed by that spell." His voice dropped a notch. "What Draco did for you was the same in general principle, but the magic facilitating his sacrifice... was different."

Just then, the fireplace flared up, and Professor McGonagall's face appeared. "Albus!"

Dumbledore spun around in his chair to face the fire. "Yes, Minerva?"

"Ronald Weasley has just burst into my office, claiming that Potter is missing again!"

"Harry is not missing. He is, in fact, right here."

" _HE IS?_ " came a muffled voice through the fire. An instant later, Ron's head appeared in the fireplace next to McGonagall's.

"Mr. Weasley! If you will kindly get your head out of my fireplace, I am _trying_ to speak with the Headmaster!"

Ron ignored her. "Harry, what the hell is going on? Are you okay? I woke up and you weren't there, and with everything that's happened –"

"I'm fine, Ron. We're trying to figure out how to save Draco."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "Oh, _Draco_ again, is it?"

"Mr. Weasley!"

"Yes, it's _Draco_!"

Ron opened his mouth again, but before he could say anything, it appeared that somebody behind him had pulled him sharply backwards and out of the fire. Coughing and sputtering could be heard, and Harry thought he could distantly hear Hermione scolding Ron.

McGonagall sniffed. "Then if Harry is safe... Professor Dumbledore, will you need my assistance with anything?"

Dumbledore considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Actually, if you would meet me in about ten minutes in the hospital wing, it would probably be prudent for you to know what is about to transpire. There is little time to explain."

Without another word, McGonagall nodded, and disappeared from the fireplace.

Harry was still staring at the fireplace, picturing Ron's furious expression, when Dumbledore caught him lightly by the sleeve. "Harry, I believe that Mr. Weasley will be perfectly fine. Right now, you must focus on the issue at hand."

"Yeah," Harry said, casting one last anxious glance at the fireplace. He didn't like leaving Ron so blatantly angry at him, and then just shutting him off again. But Dumbledore was right. Ron could wait.

"As I was about to explain, Harry, your memories confirmed my theory, both as to how Draco saved you, and... why Draco is still alive. And here, through Draco's ingenuity, we have a solid foundation on which to build our rescue effort." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a scroll of parchment and smoothed it on his desktop.

Even from upside down, Harry recognized it immediately. "Draco's spell diagram."

"Actually, this is a copy. The original is being used to aid the preparations for Draco's rescue."

"Oh," Harry said. Knowing what was on the other side of the original parchment, he was a bit uncomfortable not knowing who had it, but Dumbledore called his attention back to the present situation before he could think on it too hard.

"This is a very well-constructed spell diagram, but from what I could see, it was incomplete. No discredit to Draco, of course. The spell he was trying to diagram was far beyond his years and experience. With the help of two experts in the field, we were able to speculate about the missing pieces. What I have learned from you tonight gives me great confidence that we were correct. Do feel free to read over my shoulder, Harry."

Harry quickly came around the desk and stood beside Dumbledore's chair. There, over Draco's elegant hand, were a few bold, clear lines of blue ink. Now, a direction of energy flow between the "anchor" and "victim" was indicated. A shield was depicted around the victim, and also a connection between the shield and the victim. Several more convoluted lines and a few extra symbols that Hermione was sure to understand graced the parchment. Harry stared at it, letting it tickle his brain until he felt he needed to reach under his scalp and scratch the itch. "What does it mean?"

"From what I can see, Draco had intended to act as an anchor of sorts for you. Am I correct?"

"Wha... yes, sir."

"You must understand, Harry... it is impossible to anchor magical energy in the way Draco had intended. You can direct it, ground it, manifest it, or shield it. Draco should have known this. I wonder what might have inspired this 'tug of war' scenario."

Harry bit down on his tongue. Hard.

Dumbledore gave him a knowing look, then continued. "Essentially, Draco created the same sort of conduit that Voldemort created with you, except his intent was the exact opposite."

Harry nodded. "Voldemort wanted to kill me, and Draco wanted to save me."

"Perhaps I used the wrong word." Dumbledore finally spun sideways in his chair to look at Harry. "Yes, his intent was opposite, but so was the emotional component that he was putting into the spell."

"Draco mentioned something about 'emotional components'," Harry said slowly. "He said that it was vital to the outcome of the spell."

"And Draco was certainly correct in that assessment. It was the most important component of the spell. Indeed, it was the only thing Draco did differently than Voldemort."

Harry took a small step back as understanding sank in. "The potion was the _same_?"

"Down to the very last physical ingredient," Dumbledore said with a nod.

"Then... what was different... was... it was only –"

"The basic concept is simple, Harry, but the magic involved is profound. The potion itself only functioned to create the link through which the transfer of energy and magic could occur. Hatred alone was the driving element of this spell – the element that Voldemort was going to use to kill you. The only force in the world strong enough to counteract such a powerful hatred… is love." Dumbledore gave a sad smile, and his voice became softer. "Draco had to have cared for you so deeply that his own instinct of self-preservation paled in comparison to his need to save you. In essence, Draco used himself as a shield. He put himself between you and Voldemort... much like your mother."

Harry took another awkward step backwards. Half of his brain refused to process this; it was too unbelievable, but the rest of him knew it was the only explanation. In fact, that part of him had known all along. He turned away from Dumbledore and stumbled to the nearest armchair. He flopped into it heavily, staring off into space. "He used himself as a shield... he gave himself..."

"For you. Yes, Harry. And the only way he could have done it, given this piece of magic –"

"He loved me."

Dumbledore closed his eyes. "I was forced to make that assumption, as I did not wish to interrogate you in front of Madam Pomfrey, but there was no other explanation." Eyes opened behind half-moon spectacles, and Dumbledore peered over the rims. "This does not surprise you nearly as much as it might have."

Harry shook his head. "I knew," he croaked, then coughed once to clear his throat. "I knew all along. I just... didn't want to say... you know –"

"Perfectly understandable, Harry."

"But... if he sacrificed himself... then why... why isn't he dead?"

Dumbledore's smile became even more pained. "This is what my colleagues and I theorized… and you were able to confirm for me through your memories. You see, even though you were unconscious, and barely alive... you were still there, lending him strength, fighting with him through the connection created by the potion. In essence, the only way for him to have survived was for you to love him enough not to let him die."

Around him, Harry felt the entire world had somehow separated itself from him in a blur. The only things that were real were the breath in his chest, the pulse rushing in his ears, and the ghost of Draco's voice whispering in the back of his mind.

"I must ask you directly, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, "What are your feelings for Draco Malfoy?"

Harry blinked and focused on the Headmaster's face. Even though he knew what he would say, he didn't want to say it. He'd never talked about anything like this in his life, and for Dumbledore to be asking him outright made him very uncomfortable. Besides, if he ever managed to drum up the courage to say it aloud, Draco should be the first to hear it. Still, he had to say something.

For a moment, he tried to think of something else to say, but nothing came to him. The same words kept screaming over and over again in his mind. He looked down at his hands and his eyes fell on the back of his right hand. As always, the infuriating scars, carved there in his own messy handwriting, stared back at him.

_I must not tell lies._

_I won't tell lies._

_This isn't a lie._

Harry swallowed once. "I think... I think you know exactly what I would say."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Then, I think you may be able to save Draco."

Harry's head snapped up. "I... save Draco?"

Dumbledore said nothing. He didn't need to.

Harry's mouth fell open as understanding dawned on him. "That's why you said both of us would be at risk... isn't it?"

This time, Dumbledore nodded and indicated the piece of parchment with a wave of his hand. Harry looked down at the complex diagram and studied it. The symbol representing the victim, the shield around the victim, and the bonds still connecting them both. It was all too obvious. He was the only one who could bring Draco back. His mouth went dry at the thought.

"What do I have to do?" Harry whispered.

Dumbledore's eyes were dreadfully solemn. "The solution I have found requires an enormous commitment on the part of the 'rescuer'. Draco exists in a state between life and death. In essence, when he used himself as a shield, he became trapped there. Magical space is not the same as physical space, but in essence, he is tethered to you as a magical entity, shielding you from a danger that no longer exists. To retrieve him... you must go there yourself."

Harry would have said, _How?_ but speech was evading him, so he nodded, trusting that Dumbledore would explain.

Dumbledore picked up the parchment and held it so that Harry could see more clearly. "As you must be aware, the Soul's Eclipse potion creates a link between the person who consumes the potion and the person whose blood is used. If the potion had been used as it was designed, you would have died, and the link would have closed immediately. As we can see, you are not dead, and neither is Draco; therefore, the link remained open in a transmuted state. While Madam Pomfrey was working on Draco, I was making my own assessment, and was able to detect these traces of magic. When you presented me with this diagram, the pieces fell into place.

"I had never seen a diagram of the Soul's Eclipse. In fact, in my extensive experience, I have encountered mention of the spell less than half a dozen times. However, I have seen several magical procedures with some similar properties. There is an old technique, used long ago by forsaken lovers, which follows a similar design." He indicated the spell diagram with a wave of his hand. "The jilted or forsaken partner would consume a potion containing a drop of the blood of the other person, which would simultaneously bond them together, and act as a poison for the person who had consumed it. Some reports of the use of this potion spin tales of one partner kissing the other with the poison still on his lips to kill the other, but that would have been unnecessary. As the poisoned individual died, it would drag the partner into death with him through the bond it forged."

"Sounds like Romeo and Juliet," Harry mumbled.

"Well, you don't think Shakespeare was a Muggle, do you?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Er... I guess not."

"Regardless, that is where I recognized this schematic, and how I came to the idea for a solution. The complete explanation for this would take far too long, as our time is short, and the potion we need should nearly be ready now. Suffice it to say, with the help of a dear friend from Beauxbatons who is an expert in the Old Arts, and one of my own colleagues here at Hogwarts who has just returned to us, we have devised a plan using elements of the Lover's Vengeance poison, and the Soul's Eclipse."

"And you're sure it will work?"

"It should."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Harry said as he got to his feet. "Tell me what to do on the way to the infirmary."

"Slow down, Harry!"

"But you keep saying that we're running out – Draco's running out of time. Every minute we waste –"

"Harry, stop, and sit back down," Dumbledore said with such force that Harry flopped into his chair with a thud. Dumbledore nodded. "The potion is still being prepared, and thus, we can not do anything until it is completed. We still have a moment. You must understand that this has never been done. It is an untested theory, and may not work."

"Draco tried an 'untested theory'," Harry snapped, "and that's the only reason I'm still alive. I'm going to do it!"

"As I said before, there are risks to you as well as to Draco, and you must be aware of these risks going in."

"I don't care about the risks! Draco was willing to die for me!" Harry could feel himself becoming slightly hysterical, but he didn't care. He couldn't wait one second longer. "If I can do something to bring him back, I'm going to try it!"

"You might die, too." Dumbledore said it with such simplicity that Harry wasn't sure he'd heard him correctly, until he saw the look in Dumbledore's eyes.

Harry's stomach dropped to his knees. "Wha... how?"

"As I said, this potion is based on the poison I explained to you a moment ago. The original would bring death within seconds. The modified version is not a fast-acting poison, but a slow one. Once you consume it, your body will fall into a near-death state, but your mind will remain lucid. In that state, you should be able to cross over, following the bond between you and Draco to the plane on which Draco exists. I cannot tell you what that place will be like. It will likely be a mental construct of Draco's own mind. He may be hiding, or confused. I do not know what sorts of barriers there may be between you. Still, if you wish to save him, you must find him, and bring him back."

"I'll do it," Harry heard himself say, although his mind was reeling.

"Harry... after you consume the potion, we will only have ten minutes during which we will be able to successfully administer the antidote. After those ten minutes have passed, the poison will have worked itself so deeply into your body that nothing can be done to reverse the damage. You would die, despite our best efforts. If we attempt to neutralize the poison before your consciousness has returned to your body, your mind would be trapped and your body would weaken and die, just as Draco's is doing now. Knowing all this, do you still wish to help?"

Harry could feel his heart beating in his throat, threatening to choke him. He swallowed it back and took a deep breath. "Draco risked everything to save me... and I can't lose him. You can't give me a way to save him, only to talk me out of it. I'm going to do it."

Dumbledore smiled faintly at him. "Most people would consider this very foolish, irrational, and reckless."

"And how is that anything new for me?" Harry asked with a rueful smile, but he found himself becoming more impatient with every second wasted. His skin was itching all around him, his stomach was spinning circles, and he couldn't sit still a minute longer. He lurched to his feet. "I can't wait here anymore. I'll be in the infirmary when the potion is ready."

"I will meet you in a few minutes, Harry," Dumbledore called from behind him. "I have to make some final preparations."

Harry didn't even waste enough breath to reply. He barged out of Dumbledore's office and raced down the stairs, heart pounding. Everything was moving so fast now, and he could barely keep up, and barely catch his own breath. It seemed surreal, yet at the same time, more real than anything else he'd ever done.

_Draco loved me. That's how he did it. It was right there in front of me. And I… I… Oh Merlin. I knew it all along._ The image of Draco's face, still and pale as death, ghosted across his mind. Slowly dying. Slipping away. The sense of loss Harry had felt before redoubled.

_I never told him. I never told him how I felt. Not really. How could I? I wouldn't even admit it to myself. And now, I might never tell him. He might die... I can't let him die..._

He reached the bottom of the stairs, the gargoyle jumped to the side, and Harry ran headlong into a lanky redhead.

"Ron, get out of my way."

Ron folded his arms across his chest. "I don't think so."  
  


*********


	19. Between Heaven and Hell

_Harry reached the bottom of the stairs, the gargoyle jumped to the side, and he ran headlong into a lanky redhead._

" _Ron, get out of my way."_

" _I don't think so."_

Ron was standing with his head tilted back slightly, arms folded across his chest. He was wearing his nightshirt, with a pair of trousers thrown on underneath. Hermione was standing to the side, wrapped in a bathrobe, wringing her hands, but Ron didn't seem to be paying the slightest attention to her. "I don't know what really happened out there with you and Malfoy, but you come back after three weeks and you've gone over the edge or something! You won't tell us anything, you just disappear in the middle of the night and scare me half to death, and now you're going to do Merlin-Knows-What to save Malfoy… what the hell are we supposed to think? This obsession with Malfoy has got way out of hand!"

"It's not an obsession! He's my friend, and I've got to try to save him. Now let me through!" Harry tried to push past Ron, but Ron moved to block him.

"Ron, either you're going to let me pass, or I'll –"

"You'll what, Harry? You'll fight me?"

Hermione finally tried to move between them. "Harry! Ron! Stop, please!"

Harry shook her off, still glaring at Ron. "I will, if you don't stop being a stupid prat!"

"Harry, no! We're worried about you. What are you going to do with Malfoy? Talk to us!"

"Stay out of this, Hermione," Harry said coldly. "Ron, if you were lying down in the hospital wing, dying, I'd risk my life to save you, and I'm not going to do any less for Draco."

For an instant, Ron looked stunned, but then, his expression darkened. "Risk your life? You're going to _risk your life_ for Draco Malfoy? What the fuck are you about to do?"

In contrast, Hermione eyes grew wide with fear. "Harry, what's Dumbledore planning? What's going on?"

"It's complicated –"

Ron grabbed Harry by the shirt and pulled him around to meet his stare. "I WON'T LET YOU RISK YOUR LIFE FOR DRACO-FUCKING-MALFOY!"

Harry wrenched his shirt free from Ron's grasp. For a long moment, they glared at each other, and then Harry steeled himself. "Just try and stop me." He took two steps forward, only to have Ron block him. A step to the side, and Ron gave him a shove backwards. By now, Harry's breath was whistling angrily through his nostrils. He had to get to Draco, and there was no way in hell Ron was going to stop him. He took one more step towards Ron, but this time, when Ron moved to shove him backwards, he ducked. Ron missed and overstepped, and in the split second while he was off-balance, Harry struck.

It was a hard right hook that caught Ron in the jaw. The second swing found Ron's nose with a sick cracking sound. Blood spurted everywhere as Ron staggered backwards, swearing loudly. Hermione was screaming at both of them, but Harry didn't care what she was saying anymore. He turned to walk away, but before he could take a step, he felt a fist connecting with the back of his head.

Harry stumbled forward and was only able to turn halfway around before a low blow caught him in the side. Rage welled up in him, and before he could formulate the thought, he'd spun around, head down, and charged into Ron. They collided with the wall and fell to the ground together in a tangle of flying fists, kicking feet, and swinging elbows.

Blood was getting everywhere from Ron's nose, but Harry didn't care. Right now, the very fact that Ron was bleeding only spurred him on more. Hermione yelling at him to stop added to the furious elation. He didn't know how he ended up on top of Ron, straddling his hips, but in that momentary advantage, he had seized Ron by the shirt and was shaking him furiously. "You don't understand anything! He almost died for me because he loved me! So I'm going to save him and YOU'RE NOT GONNA STOP ME!"

Suddenly, someone grabbed him by the collar, pulled him backwards, and hauled him to his feet. He was spun around roughly and found himself looking into the scowling face of Severus Snape. A dozen thoughts ran through Harry's head. _I'm going to lose a million points from Gryffindor. Detention for a month. No, the rest of the year. When the hell did Snape get back? I thought he was gone. Awful timing. He's going to waste even more time, lecturing me about fighting... detentions, gutting horned toads by hand._

Snape stared at him, then cast a quick glance aside at Ron, who was struggling to his feet and clutching his stomach. When Snape looked back at him, Harry thought he actually detected a faint hint of amusement. "Ten points to Gryffindor. I never knew you had it in you, Potter." He released Harry's collar and his face became stony again. "You'd best run down to the hospital wing. I must tell Dumbledore that I have completed the potion, and it appears I was successful. Madam Pomfrey should be waiting for you."

"Yes, sir," Harry said weakly. He turned on shaky legs, but then Snape spoke again.

"Potter…"

Harry looked back over his shoulder.

Snape's face was twisted in an unreadable expression, and it looked like he was trying not to gag on whatever he was about to say. "Welcome back."

Harry nodded. "You too, Professor."

Neither Ron nor Hermione said a word as Harry turned towards the stairs alone. Part of him felt horrible for what he'd done, but he was far more focused on Draco right now, and far too furious at Ron for trying to stop him. Even taking the stairs three at a time, it seemed to take forever to reach the hospital wing. As he hurried along, his words to Ron echoed through his head. _I just chose Draco over Ron. There's going to be hell for this later. But not right now._

When Harry finally arrived at the infirmary, it appeared the Aurors had already come and gone. Pansy Parkinson was gone, and the broken glass had been removed. Vincent Crabbe was still there, however, as were Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall. Harry made a beeline for Draco's bed.

"Is Professor Dumbledore on his way?" Madam Pomfrey asked as soon as she saw him. "Did he find a cure?"

"Snape has a potion ready," Harry said as he took Draco's hand and automatically started kneading it. "It's not a simple cure... there's another part to it. But yeah, they've got it."

"Thank Merlin," Madam Pomfrey breathed. "But they must hurry. Draco needs it immediately. He's fading."

"What?" Harry's head snapped around towards Madam Pomfrey. She merely pointed towards the glowing light above Draco's chest.

The pulsing was slower than it had been before Harry had left, and the glow was noticeably weaker. Harry took a good look at Draco's face and paled. Draco's skin was ashen, and Harry could see the faint blue lines of veins running just beneath the surface. "How much time does he have?"

"I can't say for certain, as I've never dealt with a case like this," Madam Pomfrey said, "but I would guess he has no more than an hour, at most."

"Shit," Harry hissed, throwing a nervous glance back at the door. "Snape was just going up to Dumbledore's office as I was coming down, and Dumbledore said he had something he had to do first, and then he'd meet me down here."

"What are they gonna do, Potter?" Crabbe asked suddenly. "For Draco, I mean. What's the plan?"

Harry looked at Crabbe. "I'm going to try to bring him back."

"How?"

"By going... wherever he is."

"Hold it right there, Mr. Potter," McGonagall cut in sharply. "If you're describing what I _think_ you're describing, then I can not allow it."

"It's not up to you to decide! Dumbledore came up with the plan and I'm going to do it!"

"Professor Dumbledore may be the Headmaster, but you are still in my house, Potter. You have put yourself in serious danger far too many times in my experience, and I was unable to stop you, but that will not be the case here. I will not allow you to tap dance on the edge of death for Draco Malfoy, or anyone!"

"That's what I say!" Ron yelled from the door as he burst in, followed a second later by Hermione, Snape, and Dumbledore. Ron's nose had obviously been healed, but there was partially dried blood all over his nightshirt, and he was plainly livid. "Dumbledore told us what you're planning on the way down and I think it's bloody insane! Harry, you don't even know if this will work! The potion – poison – whatever it is, might just kill you straight away!"

"It will _not_ ," Snape said harshly.

Ron sneered at Snape, then turned back to Harry. "You can't do it, Harry! If it were me lying there, I wouldn't want you to risk yourself for me, either."

Harry held Ron's stare for a moment, then looked down at Draco. Still holding Draco's hand, he used his free hand to smooth back a strand of hair from Draco's face. "But you know I would. Even if you didn't want me to. Draco wouldn't want me to do it either." He looked back up and surveyed all the occupants of the room. "That's why I have to."

For a long moment, the room was silent. Harry stared at Ron, who seemed completely at a loss for what to say. Dumbledore finally broke the silence.

"I believe that it would be best for you to leave, Mr. Weasley. And Miss Granger. Mr. Crabbe, I think you should accompany them."

"Where should we go?" Hermione asked nervously.

"Perhaps Professor McGonagall will be kind enough to escort you to her office. Call a house-elf for some tea, and sit tight."

McGonagall's face had a pinched appearance. "You won't need my assistance, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "This will only require myself, Professor Snape, and Madam Pomfrey. And Harry, of course. I apologize that I have not given you a full briefing as I had planned, but our time is short. I assume that Miss Granger can explain the situation to you with great accuracy. I believe the fewer people present for this, the better. I will inform you as soon as we know the outcome."

Professor McGonagall took a long look at Harry. She still seemed displeased with the arrangement, but there was a note of surrender too. "I understand," she said resignedly.

Ron, however, didn't seem quite so ready to accept it. "And that's _it_? Just like that? Harry?"

Reluctantly, Harry released Draco's hand and crossed over to Ron. After a moment's hesitation, he suddenly wrapped his arms around Ron in a tight hug. Ron seemed stunned, but finally returned the awkward embrace. When they pulled apart, Harry spoke. "You know why I have to do this."

"Yeah, because you're Harry Potter."

"And if I wasn't the sort of person who would do something like this..."

"Then you wouldn't be the most capital bloke I've ever met, and I probably wouldn't like you as much as I do," Ron said, although he sounded like he was forcing each word out of his mouth.

Harry nodded. "Besides, if I've survived everything else, I doubt this is going to be the thing that does me in, right?"

"Right, mate." Ron gave a weak smile. He looked slightly greenish. "I'll see you in a few minutes, right?"

"Absolutely."

Next, Hermione nearly bowled him over with a hug. "You'll be okay, Harry, I just know you will." She pulled back just enough to look him square in the face. "I meant it when I said you were a great wizard, Harry. All those things about magic – and life – things that you can't find in books... you've got all that and more."

Harry wasn't quite sure what to say, so he looked to the side and mumbled, "Thanks, Hermione."

A moment later, after a brief and surprising handshake from Crabbe, Harry watched as McGonagall left with the three students in tow. The door fell shut behind them like the sentencing blow of a gavel, and it was time.

"There is," Snape said, "one last element to this potion that I must collect." He held up a small, brilliantly clean blade. "One drop of Draco's blood."

Harry nodded and looked away as Snape collected the blood. "Why is it that every sinister potion or spell uses blood? Why can't we use apple cider, or something more pleasant?"

"Because, Potter, blood contains many magical properties inherent to itself, as well as being a carrier for the magical essence of the person from whom it came. NEWT-level Potions will cover that topic in depth, and considering your recent experiences, I assume that you will _finally_ pay the sort of attention such a noble subject deserves." A soft red flash and a popping sound indicated that the potion had been completed. "There. It's ready, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded and looked gravely at Harry. "This is your last chance to change your mind, Harry." When Harry glared at him, he tipped his head in concession. "And I should not have bothered to ask, it appears. The potion will work quickly, and I cannot promise that the process will be comfortable. When you lose consciousness, you must find Draco as quickly as possible, find the passage back, and bring Draco with you. Just as the original version of this potion would pull the target with you into death, this version will allow you to enable Draco's passage back with you to the living world. Do you understand?"

Harry considered this for just a moment. "I think so."

"Then that will have to do. I fear there is very little I can do to further prepare you, as even I do not know the exact nature of what you will face."

Harry nodded stoically. "What should I do now?"

"You should probably lie down." Dumbledore indicated the bed a few feet away from Draco's.

"I don't want to be so far away from him," Harry said stubbornly.

"It doesn't matter how close you are, Potter," Snape said with scarcely restrained impatience. "The magic will work over any reasonable distance."

"But can't I... er..." Harry looked at Draco. He wanted to just climb onto Draco's bed and hold him.

"Harry," Dumbledore said softly, "we really cannot wait any longer."

Reluctantly, Harry hopped up on the other bed, fidgeting uncomfortably. He kept casting sideways glances at Draco, trying to quell the nerves that were beginning to overwhelm him. If Draco was willing to risk everything for him, he could certainly do the same for Draco. He wasn't going to back out now.

Harry looked away from Draco to see a lightly steaming cup of potion held in front of him. Snape was looking at him gravely, holding the cup. "It would appear that I've finally found my chance to poison you, Potter, although these are not exactly the gratifying circumstances I'd desired."

"Wonderful," Harry muttered as he took the cup from Snape. The liquid itself was shrouded by a thin film of mist drifting over the surface, and Harry suddenly felt certain that he did _not_ want to see what was underneath the mist. "That inspires so much confidence. Well... cheers, I guess."

The potion was hideously bitter, and it burned his throat on the way down. Harry gasped for breath as his eyes began to water, blurring his vision. No, his eyes weren't watering. His vision was actually becoming blurred. Then the pain began, first in the depth of his stomach, and then spreading through his entire body. Vaguely, he heard the sound of the cup clattering to the floor. The room began to swim around him. He was distantly aware of hands supporting him, and someone was propping his head with pillows, but that seemed so far away. The pain was fading along with the room, and in front of him, he could see a dark tunnel materialize. There were flashes of light, thunder crashing, and a roaring wind echoing from the tunnel. Somewhere in the midst of all that, somebody was yelling. The voice was so familiar.

"I'm coming, Draco," Harry heard himself whisper.

The infirmary disappeared completely, and Harry was standing alone in the tunnel. Or maybe it was a dark path through the thickest part of a forest. No matter. Draco's voice was calling, and he was at the end of that path, and that was where Harry needed to be. Something akin to instinct gripped Harry, like the obvious course of action in a dream, and without a second thought, he began to run. He ran through the darkness, feeling his legs ripped and scratched by a thousand branches and thorns while more branches whipped across his face. The lightning continued to flash and thunder rumbled ominously, yet no rain fell.

The path twisted and turned. Harry passed an old graveyard, and plunged through an icy river. A chasm in the ground opened up suddenly, nearly swallowing him into the earth, but he jumped over it. Nothing would stop him. Not now. The forest path turned into a cold, wet tunnel, smelling of stone and earth. He could hear Draco's voice, louder now, echoing through the tunnel, but it seemed to be as much inside his head as from an outside source. He called out, searching, hoping, but there was no direct reply.

Suddenly, the tunnel was gone. Harry was standing on a narrow, barren ledge. Behind him, a solid wall of stone rose up, ending somewhere unseen in the storm clouds above. It would be impossible to climb. There would be no retreat over the edge of the cliff either, for there, a thick column of twisting cloud and smoke rose up from the depths, glowing from the inside with fiery shades of red. The cyclone extended as high as he could see, disappearing into the stormy night sky, and down into the black depths of the chasm below. It threw a violent wind across the surface of the cliff, where one lone figure was making a defiant stand.

Draco's hair whipped around his face, and his legs were braced against the wind. For a fleeting moment, he looked so strong, as if he could stride up to the angry cyclone and kick it away, but then a gust of wind struck him, and he stumbled.

"DRACO!" Harry shouted, but the wind swallowed his voice. He made a mad dash for Draco, but as he approached, the wind itself seemed to sense him and sent him sprawling backwards. He landed on his back with a painful thud and rolled to his stomach with a groan. "Draco..." When he finally made it onto his hands and knees, he looked up.

Draco was struggling to his feet, facing the cyclone, even closer to the edge of the cliff than before. Why would he move closer? Then Harry noticed that the wind was wearing away the cliff, and chunks of earth were flying off, being swallowed by the cyclone. Draco hadn't moved closer to the edge; the edge was moving towards him. In a flash, Harry understood what the column of cloud and fire was. Draco's mental construct of death. The ground on which he – they – stood was his last refuge, his last grasp on life. And it was crumbling away.

"Draco! Look at me, damn it!" Draco didn't seem to hear him. _We're running out of time!_ Harry gritted his teeth, lowered his head against the wind, and began crawling towards Draco. The gravel was harsh and dry beneath his hands, and the smoke and dust were beginning to choke him. The closer he got, the harder the wind blew, throwing sand and debris at him, as if it was consciously trying to keep him away.

 _Nothing is going to stop me_ , Harry thought fiercely. Then his head bumped into something solid. He put his hand up. There was no barrier that he could see, but his hand collided with something hard and impenetrable. Although he couldn't cross the barrier, he could still see through it. Draco was only a few short feet away, but still out of Harry's reach. "DRACO!"

This time, Draco reacted. Slowly, he turned his torso and head. His face was streaked with sweat and grime, and his eyes were wide and haunted. For a split second, Harry saw recognition flash across his face, but then he shook his head, terrified. "YOU'RE NOT HIM!"

"What are you talking about?" Harry yelled back, confused.

"You're trying to fool me! You're not Harry! You're trying to take me away from here, but I won't go. I have to protect Harry!" He turned away from Harry, just as another huge chunk of earth broke off the cliff. Draco scrambled back a step, but otherwise held his ground. "NO! I need to stay! I promised! I swore to him!"

"Draco, I'm Harry and _I_ need you!"

Draco's head snapped around, and his eyes were blazing with fury. "YOU'RE NOT HARRY! Harry is back THERE, through the forest, and he's alive! And I have to stay here to keep him alive! If I don't, then You-Know-Who will get him. Harry said that would be the worst thing, and I'll never let that happen! I can't see it, but I know what's happening behind the storm... the eclipse is almost complete, and if I leave now, Harry will die!"

"The eclipse is _over_ , Draco!"

"No, it's not!"

"It is! It's been over for almost three days now. I'm safe! You did it. You won! Voldemort can't touch me now. I carried you back to Hogwarts, but now you're lying in the infirmary, dying. You've been unconscious for three days. If you don't come with me NOW, you'll die!" The cliff rumbled beneath him as another piece broke off from the edge. Draco teetered and fell to his knees, and Harry had to reach out a hand to steady himself. His hand collided with the barrier again, which was just as solid as ever. Harry's eyes widened with another revelation. The barrier was something else Draco's mind had created... something to keep away anything that might take him from his sworn mission. But now, the barrier was going to kill him. Harry pounded a fist against it in frustration. "DRACO, I NEED TO TAKE YOU BACK! NOW! LET ME THROUGH!"

The wind seemed to be cooperating with the shaking earth, and sent a gust that knocked them both over. Harry struggled to upright himself again. "Can't you see that this place is falling apart beneath you? It's not real!"

Draco was convinced that he needed to fight a battle for Harry's life, and so now, here he was, fighting a loosing battle in this place between life and death, between dreams and waking. Here, where nothing was real except Harry, the surrounding ether was made from their muddled memories. He couldn't lose himself in them; if he did, they were both lost.

"Your mind is creating the whole place! Your body is back in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, and you need to go back to it before you die here!"

For a moment, Draco seemed to consider this, but then his face hardened. "This is a trick! _You're_ not real!"

"NO!" Harry screamed, but Draco turned away from him again and looked out at the swirling column of cloud and fire that threatened to swallow them both.

For a moment, Harry could only kneel there, stunned. This couldn't be happening. He'd come all the way here, had found Draco, but now Draco wouldn't come back. Harry had no idea how much time had elapsed, but if ten minutes here was the same as ten minutes back in the infirmary, he knew he didn't have another moment to spare.

The sand and dust were abrading his skin, the flashes of lightning nearly blinded him, and the cliff was shaking as it crumbled away. A faint pain was starting to burn in his chest. There was no time left. He opened his mouth to shout again, but as he did, something stopped him.

It was a bit like déjà vu, but not exactly. More like a memory that was taunting him, dancing at the edge of his consciousness. He looked at Draco; his pale, determined face appearing just as it had the night of the eclipse. The night when Draco had risked it all. The hazy memories from that night drifted back through his mind, the elusive images Dumbledore had refused to share with him. He could see the eclipsed moon, hear the impassioned words, feel the brush of lips against his...

_I told you, whatever it takes. I promised. Whatever it takes._

And then, there were his own words, buried in a memory of teddy bears and sleepy mumbling.

_I love you._

"I love you," Harry whispered. He looked up at Draco and projected his voice through the howling wind. "I said 'I love you'."

Suddenly, the feel of the wind changed. It was still blowing violently, but it seemed hollow now, and the roar was somehow muffled. Draco turned in place. "What?"

"The night you used the sleep charm on me," Harry began carefully. "I remember it now. You were taking care of me. Nobody ever really took care of me like that. And I realized, on some level, how I felt about you. I was half asleep, but I said it. It took me until now to understand how I felt, but you figured out what was happening between us, didn't you?"

Draco crept an inch closer. He seemed less guarded than he had a moment before, but still very cautious. "Harry?"

"You figured it out," Harry said again. The burning in his chest was getting stronger, but he ignored it. He casually pushed against the invisible wall that seemed to be holding him back. This time, it flexed under the pressure, and Harry felt a surge of hope. He pushed harder, but it wouldn't break, so he kept talking. "The night of the eclipse. I was too far gone at the time to remember it clearly, but I do now. What you said to me."

The cliff rumbled again beneath him, and a large piece of earth broke off the edge of the cliff, leaving Draco only a couple of feet from the edge, but Draco didn't even seem to notice. "What did I say to you?" Draco said so softly, Harry might have only been reading his lips.

"You said –"

The ground shook again, but this time, the cliff broke off beneath Draco's left foot. Draco yelled out in panic. He scrambled back from the edge, but didn't seem inclined to come any further, still out of Harry's reach. He looked around frantically.

"DRACO!" Harry thrust his hand against the barrier, and this time, like pushing through thick plastic wrap, his arm penetrated it up to his elbow. "Grab my hand!"

"I can't... I don't know what to do!"

"JUST GRAB MY HAND!" Harry held out his hand as far as he could stretch it, but Draco didn't make any move to take his hand. "Draco, what the hell are you waiting for! You need to hurry!"

"What if this is a trick? What if you're You-Know-Who, trying to make me leave Harry?"

Harry shook his head. There was no time left to argue. He pressed up against the invisible barrier, straining to push his hand further through it. "DRACO! LISTEN TO ME! I heard what you said! You said you fell in love with me! And you know what? I couldn't really hear it at the time, but I remember now! And I think... I think I fell in love with you, too."

Draco's entire expression suddenly changed, as if he was truly recognizing him for the first time. "Harry?"

"Yes, it's me, Draco!" The barrier was definitely getting softer. "Come on, let me through! I came here to take you back!"

"You came here... for me?"

The vulnerable innocence in Draco's voice was what finally cracked Harry's emotions, and he could feel tears welling up. "You went through hell for me, Draco. The least I can do is to save you from your own hell. Come back with me, Draco."

The barrier was thinning rapidly. Harry could almost push through it. Just a little bit more...

And then the ground shook again. It all happened so fast, Harry wasn't sure what happened first. The piece of earth where Draco was kneeling fractured and began to drop away just as the barrier broke. Draco started to fall with an ear-piercing scream, but Harry was already lunging towards him, hand outstretched. His hand closed around Draco's. The next thing Harry knew, he was standing on the solid surface of the cliff several feet away from the edge, holding Draco in an embrace that threatened to crush them both, for Draco was clinging back just as tightly, head buried against Harry's shoulder.

"It's you... it's really you... oh Merlin, Harry, it was awful." He pulled back just enough to be able to look Harry in the face. "You're really alive?"

Harry nodded, blinking the tears out of his eyes.

"And we're really back at Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded again. "And I remembered something else."

"What's that?"

Harry pulled Draco close, so that their noses were almost touching. "Just seconds before you did the most reckless thing you've ever done in your life... you gave me something."

"I did?" Draco whispered.

"You did. And I need to return it."

"What is –"

Harry didn't give Draco the chance to finish his sentence. He closed the tiny gap between them and pressed his lips against Draco's. For an instant, Draco froze, and Harry was afraid that he'd made a mistake. But then Harry felt Draco's hand against his cheek, tilting his head to the side. Draco was leaning in even closer, and his lips were beginning to explore Harry's. Soft and tentative at first, but then firmer and more confident. It was nothing like Cho, and everything Harry had thought a kiss was supposed to be. When Draco finally pulled back, Harry was unable to stop himself from leaning forward to catch just one more second of that incredible caress.

"That was my last wish, you know," Draco said. He almost seemed shy, which was a look Harry had never guessed Draco could possess.

"What's that?"

"To kiss you... when you could kiss me back."

Harry smiled. "Well, this is one miserable place for any kiss. We need to – OH!" Fresh pain exploded through Harry's chest, and were it not for Draco's arms, he would have collapsed to the ground.

"Harry!"

Harry gasped for breath and steadied himself, leaning heavily on Draco. "We need to leave... now..." Distantly, he was aware that the cliff was beginning to crumble faster, and the edge was approaching them again.

"What's wrong with you!"

"It was... I took a –"

"MOVE!" Draco shouted a warning as another chunk of the ground fell away, and pulled Harry back with him towards the rock face. "Harry, talk to me! What's happening to you?"

"The poison... I took to get here... I only had ten minutes to get you out."

"Poison!"

"No time to explain." Harry looked around rapidly, trying to think past the pain which was spreading from his chest through the rest of his body. "There has to be an exit. Dumbledore promised an exit!" Another wave of pain hit him, and he cried out.

"What exit? What are we looking for?"

"I don't know," Harry gasped. "Just a way out... anything... there's gotta be an exit..." He finally saw something. It was barely visible with all the craggy shadows on the surface of the rock face, but there was an opening in the rock. It was narrow, and dark, but somehow, Harry knew that was it. "Through there!"

He thought he heard Draco reply, but he could barely understand him. The pain had reached his extremities, and he was burning from the inside out. Everything blurred together. He felt himself being half-led, half-carried towards the opening. There were the cool shadows of the tunnel around him, the echoing of their footsteps against the stone. The smell of smoke and dust was gone, and the wind had stopped howling. They were descending into the depths of the mountain... or were they climbing? Harry couldn't tell anymore as the world fell into blackness, then erupted in a blinding flash of light.

*********

The first thing Draco heard was screaming, and then he realized it was his own voice. Hands were holding him down, and someone was telling him to relax, that it was all right, and that everything would be fine if he would just lie still. But he couldn't lie still. The last thing he could remember was crashing through a wall of light, supporting the weight of a half-conscious Harry, but now he was awake, in the hospital wing, and Harry was gone.

"Where is he?" Draco demanded. "He was right here! He came back with me!"

Snape's face swam into view. "It would appear that Potter manages to be late to more than just my classes," he said in his usual sneering tone, but Draco could hear the underlying trepidation in Snape's voice.

"What?" With strength born of desperation, Draco forced his way past Snape's restraining hands and sat up. He looked to the side, and what he saw made his heart clench in his chest.

On the bed next to his, Harry Potter was moaning fitfully, his eyes closed, lips dreadfully pale. He was obviously in pain. Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey were leaning over him, casting spell after spell. Madam Pomfrey said something, and Dumbledore stepped back as she touched the tip of his wand to Harry's chest. A light flashed, and Harry cried out, but showed no signs of improvement.

"No!" Draco jumped off the bed and practically shoved Dumbledore out of the way in his desperation to get to Harry.

"Draco Malfoy, you will return to _your_ bed this instant!" Snape roared.

"NO!" Draco grabbed Harry's hand and laid a palm against Harry's chest. "I have to help him!" Hands gripped his shoulders and Dumbledore was pulling him back, away from Harry. He ground his feet into the floor and refused to be budged.

"Draco, there is nothing you can do. Madam Pomfrey is the most knowledgeable Healer I have ever met, but the poison may have already worked itself too deeply into his system," Dumbledore said. "She's doing her best to save him –"

"It's not enough! I have to help him!" Draco tried to twist his shoulders out of Dumbledore's grip, but the old man was surprisingly strong. "Let me help him," Draco said, weaker this time. "I was with him... he was in pain... why did he do it? He never should have come back for me!"

"He went for you... because he loves you, Draco," Dumbledore said softly.

Draco spun around in place to look at Dumbledore. "He... he said that?"

"I believe that much would be obvious."

Draco's head was reeling. "It wasn't just my dream?" he asked of nobody in particular.

Snape scoffed. "The boy swallowed a poison from my own hand for your sake. What other motivation can you think of for such foolishness?"

On the bed, Harry moaned again. Draco turned to see him, and almost wished he hadn't. Harry was shaking, almost like a fit, and his lips had turned blue. His breathing was rapid and shallow. Madam Pomfrey was still moving around him, casting spells, taking readings, and at one point pausing to administer two small phials of potion, but nothing seemed to change. In fact, Harry seemed to be rapidly worsening. It made Draco want to scream with helplessness.

He turned to Snape. "Can't you do anything?"

Snape scowled at him. "Draco, I am not a mediwizard, nor a Healer. I am not –"

"You're the Potions _Master_! You poisoned him, so where's the bloody antidote?"

Snape pointed towards Harry. "It has already been administered. Do you honestly think I would poison the boy without having an antidote on hand?"

For a moment, Draco was tempted to say _yes_ , but now wasn't the time for such nonsense. They'd already used the antidote, yet Harry was still dying in front of them.

 _Why now_? _This can't be happening_ _now_!

But it _was_ happening, and with every second, Draco could almost _feel_ Harry slipping farther and farther away, beyond the reaches of normal magic. Harry cried out suddenly, and in that same instant, Draco felt a burning pain lance through his chest. He stumbled, and Snape caught him.

"Draco?"

"I can feel him," Draco said, partially in amazement and partially in shock. "How come I can feel him?"

"I would assume it is some sort of side effect of the poison he just consumed," Snape said. "Its purpose was to link you to him such that he could bring you back. I had not considered what would happen to that link if he were unsuccessful, yet did not die immediately."

Again, Harry cried out in pain, and just as the surge of burning in Draco's own chest began to recede, he heard something that almost made his heart stop.

"Draco..."

Draco looked up, expecting to see Harry awake and alert, but he was still writhing weakly on the bed, eyes closed. "Harry?"

No response except another pained moan, but Draco hadn't imagined it. "He called for me," Draco blurted out.

"He is completely incoherent, Draco," Snape said harshly. "And you are quite possibly delirious from your own ordeal. Now lie down and –"

"No!" Draco tried to twist out of Snape's grasp unsuccessfully. "He called for me! He knows I'm here. I can help him!"

"Madam Pomfrey cannot help him! What in the name of Merlin makes you think that you can?"

"Because I've done it before!" With a desperate lunge, Draco wrenched himself free from Snape's hands. He looked up at Madam Pomfrey. "I can save him!"

"You are not a mediwizard, Draco –" she began.

"THAT DOESN'T MATTER!" Draco pushed forward again and batted Madam Pomfrey's wand out of the way. He didn't have time to explain. His entire being was focused on the boy who had just gone through hell to save him. This was far more serious than a few broken bones, but he knew he could do this – he just _felt_ it. He laid his hands on Harry's chest.

And then a hand clapped down hard on his shoulder and Madam Pomfrey pulled him back from Harry. "Mr. Malfoy, you are completely out of line, and if you don't –"

"Poppy," Dumbledore interjected, "I think you should let him."

She seemed stunned. "Albus...?"

"You know you cannot save him. The least we can do is to give Draco a chance."

"But... what could he possibly do?"

Dumbledore smiled softly. "I assume we shall know the answer to that once he's done it." He looked at Draco. "Go ahead."

Draco felt a brief flash of nervousness at the idea that people were watching him. He'd only done this once before, and then, it had just _happened_. Dumb luck and a bit of desperation. This time, he was going into it with a specific intent, and he knew that if anything went wrong, there would be no second chances.

A lance of pain shot from his chest and all the way through his torso, leaving his hands and feet tingling uncomfortably. It erased all traces of nervousness. He didn't have the luxury of anxiety. Now was the time to act.

Draco closed his eyes and blocked out everything else in the room but Harry. Through his hands, he could feel the energy of Harry's aura flowing, but it was faint, and clouded with something dark and vile. _Poison_ , the rational part of Draco's brain said, but he'd moved beyond the rational. More vivid than the aura was the sensation that was coming to him through the link the poison had formed between them. It was a strange sensation that he somehow recognized unmistakably as _Harry_ , and in a way he knew he'd never fully understand, he was thoroughly connected to that essence.

Before he even realized it was beginning, a familiar heat started to build beneath his fingertips. There was magic swelling in his own chest, flowing down his arms, through the palms of his hands. It was warmth, growing, glowing. His magic was flowing into Harry, merging with Harry's magic.

Draco wasn't sure where he ended and Harry began. The energy was a living thing of its own. It surged and pulsed, rushing through the dark places in the aura and leaving light in its wake. In the distance, Draco was sure he could hear his name being called, tentative at first, then more desperate.

_Hold on, Harry... just another second... hold on..._

A burst of energy hit Draco so fast that he wasn't sure if it came from himself, or Harry. He was thrown backwards and he yelled out in surprise and elation. The light faded just as quickly, and Draco found himself on his knees, slumped beside Harry's bed. The blood was rushing in his ears and his head was pounding. He felt thoroughly drained, but that was alright. All that mattered was whether or not he'd been successful.

"Did I do it?" he choked out. "Is Harry... is he..." Hands found their way under Draco's arms, and he was being pulled to his feet. There was a lot of hurried talking all around him, but the words were unclear and muffled. He realized suddenly that he was being led away from Harry. Draco shook his head. "Let me see him. I need to see him."

Draco pulled away from the hands that had assisted him and stumbled two steps to Harry's bedside.

Harry was still dreadfully pale, but something was different. His lips were no longer blue, and he wasn't shaking. The moaning had stopped, and his chest was rising and falling evenly. He appeared to be in a deep, peaceful sleep.

"Harry?" Draco looked up at Madam Pomfrey. "How is he?"

The Nurse was already at Harry's bedside across from Draco, and was taking readings. "Not out of the woods yet," she said in clipped tones, waving her wand in complex patterns above Harry's prone form, "but it appears, as usual, that Mr. Potter has once again exercised his penchant for scaring us all with near death experiences... and –" She looked directly at Draco. "– and his good fortune in having pushy friends with surprising skills."

She looked back down at her patient. "Blood pressure is still low, and he's in a mild state of sepsis… Professor Dumbledore, please give him the contents of that green phial… yes, that one. And Mr. Malfoy," she said without glancing up, "you're as pale as he is and have expended a great deal of your own energy. Sit down."

Snape started to pull him back towards the bed, but Draco shook him off, grabbed a chair, and sat in it so he could keep a clear view of Harry. Harry's cheeks were still sallow, but a hint of pink had returned to his lips. For several long moments, he watched and waited as Madam Pomfrey bustled about, working in tandem with Dumbledore. With each spell, Draco imagined that he could see some of the colour seeping back into Harry's skin.

"When will he wake up?"

"Soon, I believe. His vital signs are stabilizing – the irrepressible Harry Potter, it would seem."

Draco cringed, but was immediately distracted by a faint moan from the bed. "Harry!" He heaved himself up despite Snape's protest and almost bowled the Nurse over as he rushed to Harry's bedside. "Harry, can you hear me?"

Another faint moan, but Harry's eyes didn't open.

"Draco, you have already done what you could, so if you would –" Snape began, but Dumbledore interrupted him.

"I think it's quite alright now, Professor. Poppy has finished. There is no reason to hold Draco back."

Draco was surprised to feel a flash of gratitude towards Albus Dumbledore, of all people, but he quickly turned his attention back to Harry. Trying not to feel too self-conscious, he reached out and took Harry's hand. "Harry… can you give my hand a squeeze? Come on, I know you can hear me."

For a moment, there was no response, but then Harry's hand tightened around Draco's. Draco felt a surge of elation. "Thank Merlin… Harry… talk to me. Say something."

Slowly, Harry's mouth opened. "It burned." His eyes opened, just a bit, then closed again. "It's better now, but… what was in that shit I drank?"

Draco heard a snort behind him, and Snape spoke. "If you wish, Potter, I could make that into the content of your next Potions lesson."

Harry groaned. "I think I'd rather not know." He opened his eyes again, a little bit wider this time. "If you're that willing to tell me, it can't be good. My head hurts."

"Here." Madam Pomfrey pushed through with an extra pillow in her hands. "Let's get you propped up some, and then I can give you something for the headache. Malfoy, help me sit him up here."

Harry's body still felt somewhat limp as Draco helped to pull him upright, but he did make some of the effort on his own. When Harry was settled against the extra pillow, and had swallowed yet another phial from Madam Pomfrey, he finally looked squarely at Draco. "For a minute there, I didn't think you'd come back with me."

Draco swallowed nervously. "I… I had to be sure. It was as if my brain was just stuck, and all I could think about was… well… standing my ground. I had no idea how long I'd been in that place. Was it really three days?"

Harry nodded. "The worst three days of my life."

"Mine too," Draco whispered.

Harry closed and opened his eyes slowly. "What happened when we tried to come back? I took too long, I know but... that other place disappeared, and I knew I was _here_ , but I wasn't. Everything was a blur."

Draco frowned. "You don't remember anything?"

"I remember everything burning." Harry looked down at his hands in front of him. "It was like the Cruciatus, only it came in pulses, and each one was worse than the one before... and then I felt something warm... wait." His eyes came up and locked with Draco's. "You did it again, didn't you?"

Draco bit down on his lower lip and nodded. "It just made sense, I guess. You looked so... I can't even say it, but you looked a lot like how you did when I pulled you from that hole. I had to do something."

For a long moment, Harry didn't seem to know what to say. Finally, very softly, he said, "Thank you."

Draco couldn't help himself anymore. He dropped down and pulled Harry into a bone-crushing hug. "Oh Merlin, Harry, don't you ever do something like that again!"

Harry returned the embrace weakly, and Draco could feel him laugh. "No promises, but I'll try. I think I've filled my quota of almost dying for the year."

Draco leaned back just far enough to look into Harry's face, simultaneously trying to blink away the tears in his eyes before anyone noticed. "What have I got myself into, being friends with you?"

Harry laughed again. "Didn't I warn you about the hazards of that position?"

"I don't remember signing a hazardous-duty and mortal-peril contract here," Draco said flatly.

"I'll make up a copy. I do have some good news though," Harry said. "I did get Ron to promise not to kill you."

Draco scowled. "Well, thank Merlin for small favours. It would be nice to live for a while after narrowly escaping death. Again."

They were interrupted by a conspicuous cough, and they pulled apart and turned to see the members of their small audience reacting in some very interesting ways. Snape looked as if he didn't know if he should be pleased or sick. Madam Pomfrey looked shocked. Dumbledore was smiling.

"I would welcome you back, Harry," Dumbledore said lightly, "but it seems that honour has already been taken."

"Hello, Professor," Harry said, looking sheepish.

"You did cut it rather close there, didn't you?" the Headmaster continued as he took a step forward and leaned on the end of Harry's bed.

"Well, it's not like I had a wristwatch available on that other plane of existence," Harry pointed out. "And I was delayed a bit."

"Oh?"

Draco cut in. "Yeah, I wouldn't go with him at first. I... er... thought Harry was You-Know-Who, trying to... er... trick me into deserting Harry... pretty stupid, huh?"

"No, not stupid at all," Dumbledore said with a reassuring smile. "But I take it that Harry convinced you that he was indeed himself?"

"He said –" Draco was cut off by a light elbow to the ribs and a pointed look from Harry, which brought a flush of embarrassment to his cheeks. "He did, sir."

"Very good. And now, I believe you both have friends waiting outside the infirmary who would very much like to see you," Dumbledore said.

Harry looked puzzled. "I thought they went up to Professor McGonagall's office."

Dumbledore gave him a chastising look. "You don't honestly think they would be willing to go anywhere until they knew you were all right." Blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "And before I let them in, I would suggest that you two might release each other. I believe Mr. Weasley has had as much emotional trauma as he can handle for one day."

Draco and Harry pulled their hands apart as if they'd been burned. Truth be told, Draco hadn't even realized he was still holding Harry's hand. It had been a natural reflex to grasp it, but now that someone had pointed it out, Draco felt slightly embarrassed. He had never shown any sort of affection towards anyone publicly, and now, in front of two professors and the school nurse?

Draco didn't have any more time to entertain his embarrassment as the infirmary doors opened. Granger came running in first, followed shortly by Weasley, and both made a beeline for Harry. And behind them –

"Vince?" Draco said in disbelief.

Harry's friends were already fussing over him loudly by the time Vincent Crabbe made his way over, looking more at the ground than at Draco. "Hey, boss."

Draco blinked twice. "You're... here? I figured... I figured your dad would tell you to finish me off or something."

Vincent grunted and shrugged. "He did. Everybody knew what you'd done. Even the people who don't like You-Know-Who too much thought you were mad."

"Maybe they were right. So... why didn't you? Why are you here now?"

Vince finally looked up. "Pansy tried to... well, you know. She tried to do it. But I stopped her."

"But _why_?"

"Because... you may have bossed me around... but you were good to me. Nobody else was." He cast a sideways glance at Harry, who was talking with his friends in an oddly subdued manner. "Besides... when I heard you'd thrown your lot in with Potter... I figured there had to be a good reason."

Draco nodded to Vince, but he couldn't seem to reply properly. His attention was now focused on Harry, who had stopped laughing and was looking back at him with an enigmatic expression. Slowly, it morphed into a curious sort of smile, which Draco found himself returning. A strange fluttering warmth welled up in Draco's stomach, but before he could say anything, Weasley stepped forward.

For an instant, old instincts tried to kick in, and Draco's fingers itched for his wand, but he forced himself to remain still. Weasley stood in front of him. To the side, Draco heard Vincent's knuckles cracking ominously, but he ignored it. Weasley's right hand drew back. Harry immediately stood and Draco recoiled, but then Weasley's hand was outstretched, offering it for Draco to take.

Draco looked from Weasley's face to his hand, and then back up to his face, and raised an eyebrow in query.

Weasley gave a shrug that looked more like a nervous tick. "For Harry. Not because I like you...or that I ever will… but for Harry. Got it, Malfoy?"

Draco flinched. "Could you please find something else to call me, at least?"

A hint of a sly grin curled Weasley's mouth. "Sure, ferret-face."

"Ron..." Harry said warningly.

Draco felt a flash of familiar irritation, but it was quickly overshadowed with amusement. "It's okay, Harry." He took Weasley's hand and gave it one solid pump before quickly releasing it, and returning Ron's facial expression. "That'll work for now, I suppose. Besides, that's how Harry started." He was tempted to wipe his hand on the blanket beside him, more for show than anything else, but just his words had already created the desired effect.

Weasley turned green behind his freckles, and Draco couldn't help himself. He started to laugh. Harry was stifling a snicker, much to Draco's further amusement. Draco was trying to catch his breath to say something, but was interrupted by a loud pop. The next thing he knew, an ecstatic house-elf had affixed herself to his leg.

"Oh, Master Malfoy, sir! You is alive! Oh, Biddy was so worried! Biddy came to Hogwarts, like Master said, but Biddy has not been able to stop worrying! Oh, Biddy's poor master and Harry Potter, alone in the forest! And no Biddy to help! After Master is being so good to Biddy, and Biddy left Master alone! And then you is coming back, but Biddy is thinking that Master is dead! Oh, Biddy's poor Master!"

She was reduced to unintelligible sobs, and Draco reached down and awkwardly patted the top of her head. As he did, he felt himself smiling. Sometimes, it was nice just to be wanted.

Draco looked around the infirmary. The sense of contentment was contagious, and Draco finally breathed his own sigh of relief. He was surprised by how content he suddenly felt. It was as if everything were _right_. Not perfect, but right. They were alive, they were home. The hard part was over. Harry was still laughing softly and talking with Weasley and Granger, but he kept glancing back over at Draco, smiling. Weasley was blatantly looking everywhere but at Draco, but that was fine. Granger was prattling on about all the classes Harry had missed. Crabbe was asking if Draco would still play Seeker this year. Snape, who had been conferring with Madam Pomfrey, caught Draco's eye, gave him a grimace that Draco presumed was a look of approval, and let himself out of the infirmary. And Dumbledore…

Dumbledore was studying him with a completely unreadable expression that made the hair on the back of Draco's neck prickle. The instant he noticed Draco looking back at him, he gave a carefree smile, but his eyes were still quite solemn. It only made Draco feel more uncomfortable, but he returned the smile and looked away again. Nobody else seemed to notice the exchange.

*********

Eventually, the festive rush of relief could no longer sustain the small celebration, and yawns began to punctuate the stories flying back and forth like owls on a Monday morning. As it was still the middle of the night, Dumbledore had insisted that discussion could resume in the morning and that everyone should return to sleep. Draco hadn't realized just how exhausted he was until he heard the word 'sleep'.

 _But I've been sleeping for three days!_ he'd said in confusion. _Why should I still be tired?_

Madam Pomfrey told him bluntly that being trapped on the cusp of death was a bit different than getting a good forty winks.

Weasley, Granger, and Vincent were all sent out of the infirmary, but Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Harry and Draco overnight for observation. That was fine with Draco, as he seemed to be lacking the energy to travel to the dungeons, where it was likely that several more people were in the midst of plotting his demise. Plus, after almost losing Harry, it felt good to be in the same room as him – even though Madam Pomfrey had already forced Harry to take a Dreamless Sleep potion, saying that she knew he'd stay awake if she gave him the chance. It was just as well. Draco somehow suspected that Harry had slept very little since the night of the eclipse, and that despite his protests, the effects of the poison were still wearing on him.

Part of Draco wanted to stay awake. He was almost afraid that if he fell asleep, he'd wake up and none of this would be real. He could still be trapped out in the woods, or Harry could be dead, or worse. However, exhaustion was the stronger pull. In the bed next to his, Harry was snoring softly, and soon, Draco was lulled to sleep by the familiar sound.

*********


	20. All Good Things

It was morning before Draco even realized he'd fallen asleep, and it took him a few moments of disorientation to realize that the previous night hadn't been a dream. He was really in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, and Harry was sleeping just a few feet away. He turned his head to look around, and discovered what had awoken him in the dim grey of early morning.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Draco said in surprise. He scrambled to sit up. "Er... how long have you been... er..."

"Spying on you?" Dumbledore said lightly. "Only for a few moments. I would have woken you directly, but I felt that an abrupt wake-up call would be a bit harsh after your ordeal last night. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Oh... er... yes, thank you." There had always been something about Dumbledore that had been off-putting, and Draco certainly felt a little thrown off balance this morning. In addition, he was still trying to wake up fully. "What did you come down here for, sir?"

"To speak with you, and Harry, about what has transpired, as well as to make arrangements for your future safety."

"Oh. Yeah. Safety."

"Our time is shorter than you may think." Dumbledore suddenly sounded much more serious. "If those who mean you harm plan to strike, they will make their attempt sooner, rather than later. Miss Parkinson's effort almost succeeded, despite our precautions."

"Strike… what?" Draco shook his head, as if he could dislodge the last traces of sleep from his head that way.

"Although everyone knows of your return, you have not been seen awake by any other students except Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Crabbe, and it would be best that news of your recovery does not reach anyone else. There will be rumours, of course, but as long as you are not seen, it would be better for you. We must take every precaution. I should like to have you removed to a safe place as soon as possible."

Draco grumbled and punched the quilt between his legs moodily. "Is there such a thing as a 'safe' place anymore?"

"Certainly," Dumbledore said with a confidence that surprised Draco. "We have ways to protect people, Draco. I have discussed this with Professor Snape, and with Harry's approval, we have a place where you might be able to stay."

"Harry's approval?"

"I will explain shortly. And now, if you would wake Harry, I would like to speak with both of you in my office. It is more secure."

Draco rolled out off the bed hesitantly, keeping an eye on Dumbledore as he did. He didn't like cryptic discussion at the best of times. Right now, he was nervous, edgy, and uncertain about his entire future, and here was a man with whom he'd never had a civil conversation, calmly making cryptic remarks about taking Draco away from what little he had left. And away from Harry.

Harry woke very easily, which surprised Draco. He mumbled "good morning", and then remained silent as he gathered up his wand, glasses, and the travel sack that he still seemed to be carrying like a nervous habit. He also seemed to be avoiding eye contact, but Draco tried to write it off as early morning sleepiness, or the nagging effects of the poison, but Harry didn't appear sleepy or lethargic. He seemed distracted. It was even more disconcerting not even to get a smile from him. Wasn't this the same person who, just hours before, had risked his life to save Draco? Hadn't he said he loved him? Hadn't he? Draco tried to ignore those thoughts as he found his own wand lying on the bedside table, tucked it into his pocket, and fell in step with Dumbledore and Harry as they made their way out of the infirmary.

As they climbed the stairs, Harry didn't once turn towards Draco, nor did he say another word. It was eerie. Draco had to restrain himself repeatedly from stopping Harry and demanding that he just _look_ at him. He needed to know why Harry was acting so strangely. Draco felt alone, and though he hated to admit it to himself, he was just a bit scared. He was going to be leaving, and although he was sure that Dumbledore wouldn't force him, he knew that in the end, he'd go. He desperately wanted to feel connected to something when his entire future was so uncertain, and it was with Harry that he wanted to connect, but Harry wouldn't even look at him. He felt so alone, even though he was barely inches away from the person that he now considered his best friend. Dumbledore was going to safeguard him, but where? And how? What was going to happen to Harry? And what the hell was Harry thinking underneath his impassive expression?

Draco hardly noticed as a gargoyle jumped aside, and they made their way up a twisting staircase and through an elaborately carved wooden door. Two soft armchairs were positioned facing the Headmaster's desk, and Draco flopped into the one on the left, while Harry quietly lowered himself into the other. Dumbledore, however, remained standing, and leaned back against the front edge of his desk. Behind the desk, a phoenix trilled softly.

"Fawkes!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes brightening for the first time since he'd awoken. "He wasn't here earlier, was he?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "I am surprised that you noticed his absence."

Harry shrugged. "Where did he go, sir?"

"He was needed to supply one of the ingredients for the potion you took last night."

"Ah," Harry said, as if that explained everything. He seemed to be searching for something else to say, and Draco recognized it as the way Harry often tried to extend meaningless conversations to avoid difficult discussions.

Dumbledore must have caught the signs, and said lightly, "Harry, you may remove your travel pack and stay for a bit."

Harry silently removed the pack and placed it on the floor beside him, but he didn't seem too keen to let it go.

Apparently realizing that Harry was not about to relax, Dumbledore folded his hands in front of him and leaned back in a businesslike matter. He looked at Harry carefully for a moment before addressing them both. "Boys, first, I must express to you how proud I am of the both of you. And please, do not think I say this patronizingly. What you have both accomplished over these past few weeks is nothing short of remarkable... for a multitude of reasons."

Draco, for his part, didn't know whether to be proud of the compliment, or to brush it off. He still had no intention of becoming one of Dumbledore's goody-goodies, but at the same time, there was something disconcertingly powerful about the old man. Something that Draco didn't quite understand, but could come to respect in time, if he learned more about it. Still, he didn't know Dumbledore well enough to trust him, and right now, the man seemed to be ready to direct Draco's entire life. He glanced over to Harry to see how he was reacting, hoping for some reassurance, but once again, Harry seemed to be wearing the carefully placed mask of indifference he'd had since Draco had woken him. It didn't make Draco feel any more comfortable.

Dumbledore seemed to notice the odd tension in the room, and continued lightly. "But it would seem that discussion of past accomplishments is best left for another time. We have several more pressing matters." He placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward slightly. "I believe that we must get Draco out of this school today, as soon as possible. Last night, I met with the Aurors who were interrogating Miss Parkinson. One of their primary goals was to have her list the other children of Death Eaters, or the Voldemort-loyalists amongst the student population at Hogwarts, particularly those who might try to finish the job she failed. As I suspected she would, she refused to comply with the interrogation."

"Why don't they use Veritaserum?" Harry asked.

"Because Veritaserum is tightly controlled, and Miss Parkinson is still underage. We can not force her to take it, and she has refused."

Draco frowned. "But we don't need Pansy to tell us. I know who they are. Why don't you just kick them out?"

"If it were only that easy," Dumbledore said with a long sigh. "I am unable to simply remove students from this school based on suspicion without evidence."

"I'll give you the bloody evidence!" Draco said angrily. "I'll give you names, conversations –"

"I'm afraid that will be insufficient. We're trying to hide you, Draco. Your testimony will have to be heard by the board of governors for those students to be removed."

Draco's eyes widened in understanding. "Half the members of the board of governors are Death Eaters."

"Well, less than half, but enough such that it would be prudent for you to avoid such meetings. It is not an option. But in the meantime, we must make haste to remove you from the school."

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Dumbledore had said he'd be leaving soon, but Draco hadn't thought it would be today. It was too soon! He'd just arrived back! And last night, something incredible had happened between himself and Harry. Whatever it was, Draco didn't quite understand it, and he desperately needed a chance to talk to Harry privately and find out if they were both feeling… whatever Draco thought he was feeling. Especially now that Harry seemed to be giving him the cold shoulder. He looked over at Harry, but Harry was facing the Headmaster, seeming not to see anything else around him.

"Where will he be sent?" Harry asked flatly.

"I have discussed this with Professor Snape, as Draco's Head of House, and with the other members of the Order of the Phoenix. As Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place is now yours, you can decide how it shall be used. Until better arrangements can be made, or until the school has been better secured, I believe that it would be best for Draco's safety to hide him there. He would be protected by the Fidelius Charm, as well as by several Order members. But permission to use the location in such a manner is up to you, and consent to this plan is up to Draco."

"If Draco wants to go, he can. If you think that's best." The corner of Harry's lips quivered; a tiny crack in his composure. He turned to look at Draco. "It's not the nicest place, you know."

"I know," Draco said carefully. "I went there when I was much younger. Four years old, I think. Old Auntie Black was rather batty."

Harry managed to smile for a split second before his expression fell again. "Do you want to go?"

"Well, I –"

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry cut him off suddenly, "the only threat to Draco is from the Slytherins. Why can't we just put him in another house? I'm sure I could convince the Gryffindors –"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I am sorry, Harry, but it isn't so simple. No one has ever switched houses, and –"

"We could make an exception for once! I mean, how is Draco going to finish his schooling? He's only just taken his OWL's!"

Draco scowled and poked Harry in the arm. "While I appreciate the invitation into your illustrious Gryffindor Tower, did you bother to think that I wouldn't _want_ to be in a different house?"

Harry frowned. "But you can't want to be in Slytherin anymore... can you?"

Draco sighed and leaned on the arm of his chair. "I don't particularly want to die, so no, I don't want to be surrounded by Death Eaters' children who would love to turn me into a trophy. Nor do I want to be stuck in Gryffindor, or Ravenclaw, and I'd be forced to commit ritual suicide if I were placed in Hufflepuff."

"But..." Harry turned back to Dumbledore. "But Professor!"

"Ah, Harry, that was what I was about to explain when you interrupted. Houses are not arbitrary. I know you are convinced that Slytherin house is synonymous with Dark wizards, but Draco is a Slytherin, and I doubt that you would call him a Dark wizard anymore."

"No," Harry said, kicking morosely at the carpet.

"Then, would you be amenable to allowing Draco to use Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place?"

"Draco's my friend. He can use anything of mine that he wants." Harry finally looked at Draco again. "If you want to go, that is."

Draco looked from Harry to Dumbledore, hesitating. He didn't really want to answer either way.

"The arrangement would be temporary," Dumbledore insisted gently. "There are ways for you to continue his studies, and Harry can visit you whenever the situation permits."

Draco worried the fabric of the armrest between his fingers as he met Harry's gaze again. "I think I have to, Harry. Pansy tried to kill me. It's just going to keep happening until one of them succeeds. Or until their parents pull them out of Hogwarts."

"Which might happen sooner than you think," Dumbledore interjected. "Just this morning, I received an early owl from Gregory Goyle's father. It appears that Gregory is destined for a finer educational institution, and will be leaving us by the end of the day. I expect more similar occurrences as this situation progresses."

Draco gave Harry the bravest smile he could, which wasn't much. "See? I'd be back in no time. Don't tell me you'd miss me that much."

Harry shrugged and looked away. Draco knew what Harry would have said, but he wished he'd said it aloud. **_I'd_** _miss you that much_ , Draco thought to himself. _But sometimes, I guess we have to do things we don't want to do._

"So, the consensus?" Dumbledore prompted.

Draco didn't want to answer. It felt too sudden. They'd finally arrived back _home_ , and now Draco found himself being asked to leave. Even though he'd known logically that he'd be facing plenty of trouble upon returning to Hogwarts, anything from imprisonment for his crimes to exile for his own safety, part of him had wanted to be swept up in some ridiculous fanciful notion of a heroic homecoming, where everything would be okay. But now that he was being asked to go into hiding, he could no longer take refuge in his fantasy. Not taking his eyes off Harry's downcast face, Draco answered, "I'll go." He didn't miss the shadow that passed over Harry's features as he said it.

Dumbledore nodded. "Then I shall make the arrangements. If you wish, I can apply to have you legally emancipated from your parents. We have channels through which we can do that."

"That might be best," Draco said, still watching Harry.

"Well then, we have a lot to do today, don't we?" Dumbledore said brightly, rousing himself. "Draco, I can have Biddy pack your belongings so that you need not go to the Slytherin dungeons yourself."

"All right… I mean, thank you, sir."

"And Harry, I am sorry to do this to you, but there is a matter that I must discuss with Draco privately."

Harry's head snapped up, and his eyes were furious beneath his glasses. "Sure. I'll see you both later, then," he growled, and without even looking back, he marched out of the office, shutting the door loudly behind him.

Harry's departure was so abrupt, Draco felt as if Harry had slammed him, not the door. "Harry!" Draco called behind him, but he knew Harry wasn't going to come back. From across the office, Fawkes trilled sadly. "What's got into him? Professor, I should probably go –"

"Not quite yet, Draco. Give Harry some time. And I honestly do have something I wish to speak with you about before you go find Harry."

Draco forced himself to sit properly in his seat and face the Headmaster. "Yes, sir?"

"First, I would like to know if you wish for us to contact your mother."

Draco nearly choked. "My mother is dead."

Dumbledore only looked surprised for a moment, but then he shook his head. "I can assure you that she is quite alive. Professor Snape saw her only three days ago, at Malfoy Manor."

Draco was stunned and mouthed silently to himself, trying to process this. When he spoke, his voice cracked. "Snape was at the Manor? He really saw her?"

"Indeed, he was and he did. You see, as I partially told Harry, Voldemort has disappeared. As you have good cause to know, on the night of the eclipse, things did not go well for him. According to Professor Snape, he collapsed just moments before the eclipse reached completion, and was taken away by two of his most loyal followers. The Death Eaters scattered, and we do not know what their current plans are, as Professor Snape did not follow any of them. Instead, he went to your parents' house to see if he could learn anything further about your situation before reporting back to me. He can now use his contact with your parents to maintain his appearance of loyalty to Voldemort."

"He _is_ loyal to the Dark Lord!"

This time, Dumbledore smiled as he shook his head. "Now that your situation has changed, why do you not ask him yourself?"

Facts were coming too fast now, and Draco shook his head slowly. "This is too much… damn. But… what about my mother? I thought… but You-Know-Who told me that she was dead! I saw her dead!"

Dumbledore placed a hand on Draco's shoulder in sympathy. "I would suspect that Voldemort has shown you images of your mother's dead body in order to intimidate you. And I would hope that Harry has assured you that Voldemort is a master of illusion. Lord Voldemort does not kill anyone for whom he might have further use. With you still out of his grasp, your mother may yet be useful to him. He would not bother to kill her without a purpose. Our spies have seen her only two days ago, and she is quite alive."

"And... my father?"

"Also alive."

The emotional relief felt like a noose being cut away from his neck, and Draco flopped back down against his pillows, breathing a long, shaky sigh.

"Draco?"

"I'm surprised, that's all. I'm just... glad. I may have left the family, but I never wished harm on any of them."

Dumbledore patted his arm softly then backed away again. "I know you didn't. But my question remains, do you wish for us to contact your mother? She may be the wife of a Death Eater, but she does not bear the Dark Mark herself. As long as she is alive and within the control of Lord Voldemort's people, she is at risk because she could be used as leverage over you, and you are at further risk as a result. We can approach her and offer her refuge, if you wish."

Draco considered this for a moment, then closed his eyes. He pictured his mother. Narcissa Malfoy: proud, strong, cold. A woman from a long line of pure-bloods, the wife of a powerful pure-blood, and proud of both facts. Narcissa Malfoy: the mother of a traitorous son. Sure, she loved him, but a blood traitor for an offspring didn't fit into her plans, and would only endanger her further. If he allowed her to simply disown him, she could continue her life, uninterrupted, and he could just walk away. And then, after everything was over, maybe he could find her. If Dumbledore went to safeguard her now, she would become a refugee. She would feel shamed. She would be forced to face the fact that she had birthed a blood traitor. That would never do for Narcissa Malfoy.

"Leave her," Draco finally said, and he opened his eyes. "It's better that way. She'd never leave my father, and he wouldn't want to come, just as much as I'm sure you wouldn't want him."

Dumbledore didn't seem pleased by his answer. In fact, he seemed ready to offer another argument, but finally, he nodded. "As you wish. And now… I wish to discuss your rather miraculous healing of Harry in the infirmary."

Draco sat still for a moment, then looked down at the floor. "What's there to discuss? It happened."

"I am aware that it was not the first time you healed Harry in such a manner."

Draco's head shot up. "How do you know about that?"

"Harry allowed me to view the memory," Dumbledore said simply. "It was not the memory I needed to view specifically, but it existed in close conjunction with the memories I required."

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He suddenly had the feeling that Dumbledore had viewed many of the events that had happened during the three weeks he and Harry were away from the school, and he wasn't so sure he liked that. "So... the healing. What about it?"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "The first instance, I think, was a case of simple wandless healing."

"Simple! I'll have you know that Harry had broken at least four ribs, probably had some internal bleeding –"

Dumbledore held his hands up. "Draco, I did not say that the healing was not impressive, nor would I belittle what you have done. What I wish to explain to you is that you did not accomplish anything that has not been done before. There have been many well documented cases of witches saving their children in such a manner, or –"

"Yeah, I know, I know. It's all been done... er... sir."

"Indeed." Dumbledore peered at him over the rims of his spectacles. "What has not been done before – at least in my substantial memory – is the more complicated healing you performed last night."

Draco sat up a bit straighter. "What do you mean?"

"Harry had consumed a poison with was both physical and magical in nature. In comparison, yes, a few broken bones were very simple injuries to heal. The poison Harry used caused extensive damage to his body, as well as to his magic, which is an incredibly difficult injury even for professional Healers to fix. Also, in the more widely reported cases of wandless healing, the effort was spontaneous and desperate; your actions in the infirmary were deliberate. As Madam Pomfrey stated, you are not a mediwizard, so by all accounts, there seemed to be no possible way for you to have saved Harry. However – and this is what might have made the difference – the poison Harry consumed was designed to bind you together... as was the Soul's Eclipse potion. I have hypothesized that with both sets of bonds still in place, your healing attempt was greatly enhanced."

Trying to process all the small bit of information, Draco picked out the simplest thread. "We were bonded together?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Temporarily. The magic involved was highly complex, and with the combined effects of two potions, both being used for things for which they had never been intended, I doubt that we will ever know exactly what allowed you to do it."

"I needed to save him. Isn't that enough?"

"It may well be, Draco," Dumbledore said. "And certainly you would not have been successful had your desire to save him not been so great. However, for your own safety, and Harry's, I would like to see if those bonds have been dissolved."

"Dissolved?"

"Most certainly. They were never meant to be permanent, but in a case of experimental magic, unforeseeable circumstances may arise." Dumbledore drew his wand. "With your permission, I would like to check you over."

"Why didn't you check Harry?" Draco asked testily.

Dumbledore sighed. "I would only need to check one of you, and Harry seemed quite agitated. I felt that keeping him here for such a test would only trouble him further."

Draco felt a flash of anger. "And you didn't trouble him more when you told him to leave?"

"I also thought that perhaps you would not want him to know about your mother."

Draco scowled. "Anything you can say to me, you can say in front of Harry. This is what he was talking about – people not telling him things. So hurry up and test me. I need to get ready to go."

Dumbledore said nothing as he flicked his wand towards Draco. A soft yellow glow began at the top of Draco's head, slowly enveloped him, and faded away.

"And the prognosis is...?" Draco pushed.

"The bonds have been dissolved."

Draco wasn't sure if he was happy with that or not, but he put on his best look of indifference as he stood and turned a foot towards the door. "Then I can leave?"

"You are free to go, but Draco..."

"What?" he asked irritably.

"I must tell you that while I have made my share of mistakes –"

Draco snorted.

"– my deepest concern has always been for the students of Hogwarts. This includes Harry and yourself. I want you to know that I am aware of how dangerous your situation truly is, for multiple reasons."

"Well, _sir_ , that makes two of us who are aware of it, doesn't it?"

Dumbledore smiled patiently. "Draco, I understand your past prejudices against me, but it would seem that now, we are fighting on the same side."

Draco faced the Headmaster squarely and folded his arms across his chest. "I knew you were going to do this. And I already talked to Harry about it before... well... before the night of the eclipse. I don't want any part of this. I'm not going to fight for you. I don't want to fight on either side."

Dumbledore leaned forward heavily on his desk. "The fight will come to you, Draco, whether or not you are prepared for it. I should not need to enumerate the reasons why you are already thoroughly entrenched in this conflict, but carefully consider your situation. You may not wish to fight for me, nor would I ever expect you to do so... but would you fight for Harry?"

Draco opened his mouth before he realized that he had no argument. _Yes_ , he would fight for Harry. Without question. He already had.

Dumbledore nodded knowingly. "And so you can see exactly why you are now part of this fight."

The significance of Dumbledore's words hit Draco hard, and suddenly the room didn't seem to have quite enough air in it. "I don't want to fight," he said again, weaker this time.

"Neither did Harry. He has been marked with a burden since he was an infant, and he has shouldered this responsibility valiantly. Still, he had a choice. He could have walked away from the burden if he wanted to, but he hasn't. If you wish to walk away from this fight... Harry would continue on without you, and you would have to leave Harry behind as well."

Draco felt himself go pale.

Dumbledore's voice was soft, but his words dug sharply. "We will do everything we can to protect you, regardless of which path you choose. I swear this to you. But I want you to ask yourself, when the time comes, will you choose to stand with Harry?"

Draco stared at the far wall. There was nothing he could say. Not now. Not to Dumbledore. "I need to go," he said hoarsely.

"Then go. Although I will remind you that you would do well not to be seen throughout the school."

Draco's stomach twisted as he realized the Headmaster was right. "Fuck!" Draco looked up at the small clock on the wall. "People probably aren't awake yet, but they will be. Damn it..."

"Before you enlighten me to any more of your vocabulary, might I point out that Harry seems to have forgotten the pack he has been carrying since he arrived." He indicated the dusty bag lying by the chair Harry had deserted. "My guess is that you might find something useful in there, and that Harry would probably want you to use it."

Draco looked at Dumbledore in surprise for a moment before grabbing the pack and turning for the door.

"I expect that your belongings will be assembled shortly," Dumbledore called from behind him. "As soon as you have handled your affairs, please report back to my office. The password is 'pineapple'."

 _Pineapple_? Draco thought to himself as he closed the door behind him.

It felt strange to be using the Invisibility Cloak without Harry, but as Draco swept by a small group of Ravenclaw sixth-years who appeared to be on their way towards the library, he knew that Harry probably _would_ want him to use it. He felt as if he should be going to find Harry, but he had no idea where the boy might have gone. To Gryffindor Tower? Possibly, but somehow, Draco doubted it. Breakfast? Not likely. Draco put it out of his mind. He'd find Harry before he left. Right now, Draco had to see someone else.

His path took him down the stairs, across the main foyer, and towards the dungeons. He passed the turn that led to the Slytherin dormitories and continued straight towards the Potions classroom, beyond which were the living quarters of his Head of House.

Draco tried to knock softly on Snape's door, but the sound echoed throughout the corridor. Above the door, a rather hideous small gargoyle snickered. "What do you want, invisible boy?"

 _Fuck, that thing really **can** see everything. I thought it was just a rumour. I hate that bloody gargoyle._ "I need to see Professor Snape."

"Oh, you need to see Professor Snape, do you?" he said in a singsong voice that reminded Draco far too much of Peeves.

"Will you just announce me already?" Draco hissed.

"Absolutely, your highness-ness. One invisible Malfoy to see the esteemed Severus Snape, God of the Dungeons." The statue went still, and Draco knew that the magical watchdog had gone through to one of the gargoyles inside Snape's living quarters. A moment later, the door opened, and a dishevelled Potions Master appeared. In a heartbeat, he'd swept his arm across the space in front of the doorway, grabbed Draco by the shoulder, and had hauled him inside.

Snape whipped the Invisibility Cloak from Draco and glowered at him darkly. For a terrifying moment, Draco wondered if he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life. _Shit! What if he really **is** loyal to the Dark Lord? I don't trust Dumbledore, so why the fuck did I trust him about this?_

Draco looked back over his shoulder at the door, considering making a break for it, but then Snape grabbed him by the arm again. In a surge of panic, Draco threw up his free hand and yelled, "No! Let me go!"

The grip remained firm. "Be quiet!" Snape snarled at him. "Do you want to alert the entire dungeons to your presence? What do you think you are doing, sneaking around out there? Are you daft?"

"I... er..." Draco stammered for a moment, unsure what to think.

"Professor Dumbledore has been awake all night, as have I, making arrangements for your safety, and you risk it all by traipsing about the _dungeons_?" Snape finally released his arm. "What were you thinking?"

"I needed to talk to you," Draco said, trying not to let his voice shake. "Dumbledore said... he said to ask you if I didn't believe it was true... about your loyalties... and my mother... but..."

"Draco," Snape said evenly, "I did not think I would need to explain to you how stupid this was. Have you learned nothing as a Slytherin? Self preservation is paramount! What if Dumbledore had been wrong, and I had decided to turn you over to the Dark Lord immediately?"

"Er... I'd be in a lot of trouble?"

Snape scowled at him, turned, and walked to the corner of his sitting room in front of the fireplace. He sat in his own chair and indicated for Draco to sit in the one facing him. "You have come to talk, so talk."

Draco settled himself uneasily into the chair. Although the seat appeared padded, it was really quite hard. "I had to find out..." He hesitated. "Is my mother really alive?"

"She is," Snape said, but offered no further information.

It took all Draco's willpower not to squirm. "And... I needed to know if you were really loyal to Dumbledore," he said as calmly as possible. "I always thought... well... that Dumbledore was just a fool for trusting you."

Snape didn't reply for a minute as he stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Trust is always the act of fools. Loyalty, however, is not."

Draco frowned. "I don't understand."

"I did not expect that you would, although it would have been a pleasant surprise." Snape leaned on the arm of his chair. "There is never a reason for trust, Draco. It is given freely, and often irresponsibly. Loyalty is a far deeper commitment, and should never be given without reason. Tell me, Draco, why did you leave the Dark Lord's service?"

Suddenly, Draco felt very nervous. Snape still had not admitted the true nature of his loyalties. Still, Draco had known him for years. If Snape was going to turn him in, he would have already acted. "It just seemed... wrong somehow. Serving him."

"Were you scared?"

"No!" Draco protested, but Snape's piercing glare made him wince. "Okay, yes, I was scared. But that wasn't everything."

"No, it wasn't. I am well aware of this. You did not merely drop your prior loyalties; you gained new ones."

Draco found his cheeks burning.

Snape nodded slowly. "Ask yourself, Draco, why would a person shift loyalties? Or, more to the point, why would a _Slytherin_ do so?"

Draco thought in silence for a moment before venturing an answer. "A Slytherin would always pledge loyalty to the person with the most power."

"Very true, Draco. However, a truly clever Slytherin would understand that raw power alone means very little. The winner of this war will not be the one with the most power. It will be the one with –"

"The most strength," Draco finished for him as his heart started to thud harder in his chest. "Power has no loyalty... no depth... By Merlin..."

Snape raised one eyebrow. "You surprise me, Draco. Where would you have encountered such a valuable nugget of wisdom?"

Draco looked at him bleakly. "You'd never believe me if I told you."

"Really?" Snape asked in a tone that didn't demand an answer. "Regardless, deserting a post for such a reason is one matter. Throwing your lot behind someone at great personal risk to yourself is another matter altogether."

Draco felt as if Snape's eyes were boring holes through his skull. He tried to remember what little Occlumency he'd been taught, but he was too tired from his ordeal the previous night, and his brain was too fuzzy. Cautiously, he let himself meet Snape's piercing stare, and tried sidetracking the conversation with his own question. "So... why would you throw your loyalty behind Dumbledore?"

"I think _I_ should ask _you_ why you would throw your loyalty behind Potter."

Still holding Snape's gaze, Draco realized that the older man was in full control of this exchange and there was nothing he could do about it. Snape wouldn't answer any questions until he wanted to. Draco sighed in defeat. "I saw how strong he was when he faced You-Know-Who. Unarmed, trapped, and he didn't even flinch. Even I couldn't do that when I thought I was loyal to him. But then... I was supposed to meet with You-Know-Who for myself, and by that time, I was... wavering."

"A very dangerous thing, to waver in your loyalty when meeting with the Dark Lord. He demands absolute devotion."

"I know," Draco said with a shudder. "And I knew then too. I thought that maybe I could blank my mind, or Occlude him, but I was too exhausted, and too... well..."

"Fixated on your prisoner?"

"We'd been talking for days! What did you expect? And he wasn't at all what I thought he was."

Snape cocked his head in amusement. "Then what was he?"

"Better," Draco said flatly.

"Interesting," Snape said mildly. "So, what did it? Why did you place your loyalty firmly behind Harry Potter before you even stepped out of the Dark Lord's dungeons? And do not look so surprised. You never would have left with him had you not already changed loyalties."

Now Draco _was_ surprised. "That's what Wormtail said!"

"Indeed. As he said to me, not that I needed that rodent to tell me things I already knew."

 _Even more surprises_ , Draco thought to himself. "When did you see him?" he pressed.

"Briefly, late last night, but that is not the issue now. I asked you a question, and I expect an answer."

Draco pressed his lips together, sighed, and stared at the pattern on Snape's throw rug. "Harry helped me. Everyone else wanted to test me, but Harry... he knew what I would be facing when I met with You-Know-Who, so he helped me. He got me angry... just enough so that I could cover my fear and indecision. Looking back, it was impressive how he did it. I didn't even realize what he'd really done until I was on my way up the stairs. I think he saved my life that night."

Draco looked up to see how Snape was reacting, but Snape's expression was still completely neutral, so Draco pressed on. "He didn't need to help me... he was my prisoner... but he did anyway. I couldn't understand why someone would help me when they didn't need to, but when it happened, it all made so much sense. And then, when I finally met with You-Know-Who, everything that Harry had said... about fear, control, servitude..." He paused and smirked. "...power and strength."

Snape's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "Potter told you? You were right. I don't believe it."

Draco's smirk turned into a rueful smile, which then faded. "I met You-Know-Who, and I believed every word Harry said to me. He was right. I could tell who was stronger. I knew what I wanted then. And I knew that Harry had given me something that I'd never had before." Draco took a deep breath. "A choice."

"And so you made that choice."

"Yes, I did."

Then Snape did something Draco had seen him do less than a half-dozen times in his life. He smiled. "And so did I."

Draco sat there, stunned, as Snape got up and crossed the room to his desk, plucked a piece of parchment from atop a stack of books, and returned. "I trust you recognize this parchment?"

He held it up, and Draco could see the diagram he had drawn of the Soul's Eclipse and its counter-curse. "Of course I do."

Snape nodded. "I required the use of your spell diagram as I prepared the potion Potter consumed last night. Your diagramming skills need work, Draco, as does your grasp of the Ogham alphabet, but we shall save that for another time. Before I began my work, it was rather difficult not to notice the writing on the back of this parchment. Potter's handiwork, was it not?"

"He wrote a note on it," Draco said. "It was in case he didn't survive... he wanted me to bring it back as proof that I didn't kill him... or let him die intentionally."

Snape frowned. "You have not read it."

Draco shook his head. "I told myself that I'd read it if I had to. If I read it while Harry was still alive, it was like admitting that he was going to die."

"A word of advice, Draco: if you ever have the opportunity to read something, do so immediately. You never know when you will need that information. Which is why I took it upon myself to read this."

The fact that Snape seemed pleased about reading something Harry had written made Draco very uncomfortable. "What does it say?" Draco asked, reaching a hand out, but Snape pulled the note further from him.

"Before I give this to you, I wish to remind you of something. While loyalty to the Dark Lord demands complete subservience and dedication in exchange for power, loyalty to another demands just as strong of a commitment, if not stronger. Do not make a commitment that you are unable to keep."

Draco thought for a long moment, then stood. "I made a promise to Harry the night we escaped. I told him I'd get him back to Hogwarts, no matter what happened. ' _Whatever it takes_.' That's what I said, and I did it. I told him I wouldn't leave him, and I didn't. I even promised... that if it looked like You-Know-Who was going to win... I'd... Merlin, I still can't say it."

"You promised that you would kill him, rather than let the Dark Lord win?" Snape seemed unsurprised by the thought.

Draco hung his head. "Yes."

"Could you have done it?"

"I would rather have died myself. I didn't have to kill him for us to win, so... it doesn't really matter, does it?"

"You know better than that. Look at me, Draco. Now, tell me, could you have killed him?"

Draco looked up, but the words wouldn't come.

"You will answer me, Draco. Out of loyalty to Harry, could you have fulfilled your promise to kill him?"

Draco's throat was squeezing in on itself, but he finally managed to choke out an answer.

"Yes."

Snape gave a satisfied nod and held out the parchment. "Then you have earned this."

Draco hesitantly accepted the parchment and flipped it over. The note was shockingly straightforward at first, but then Draco remembered that Harry hadn't exactly had the luxury of time in which to mince words. Still, as blunt as it was, Draco read slowly as tears began to well up in his eyes. Snape was watching, but it didn't matter. When he got to the end, he composed himself and then looked up. "I need to go find him."

"Even with that cloak, you would have a difficult time infiltrating Gryffindor Tower."

"I don't think he's there... wait, I have an idea."

"Do you? How novel."

Draco glared at him. "I found a hiding place of his last year... he used it for that little Dumbledore-club. I think he might be there."

Snape responded with a nod of the head. "Then if you know where the boy has gone, and you have no further issues of teenage angst to discuss with me, I would appreciate an hour of sleep before I face the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw third-years for class this morning. They are not anticipating my return. Though tiring, the results should be... entertaining."

"Yes, sir. Thank you for listening."

"You're welcomed. And Draco..."

"Yes?"

"You're about to embark on a very difficult path, one which is likely to make your trek through the northern forest seem like a pleasant camping trip. But you should know... you will not be alone."

Draco clutched the parchment to his chest. "I know." Without another word, he threw the Invisibility Cloak back over his head and let himself out. As he did, he realized that Snape had never actually said outright to whom he held loyalty. _Clever bastard_.

*********

When Harry had arrived in the Room of Requirement, it reminded him very much of how it had looked just yesterday for Ron, Hermione, and himself, except instead of beanbag chairs, there was one plush couch, long enough for him to stretch out on comfortably. However, instead of stretching out, Harry curled up against one of the arms and thought about how empty the other end looked.

_I'm being ridiculous. Of course we need to put Draco someplace safe. If he stays here, he's risking his life, and I can't let him do that. That's the **last** thing I could let him do! But then why the hell am I so upset about this?_

Harry rolled off the couch and started pacing the small length of floor. His trainers sank deep into the carpet with every step.

_Sure, I spent the last few weeks with him, but how the hell could I become so damned attached that I don't want him to go? In just a few weeks? And why the hell did it take almost losing him to make me understand? What if we hadn't saved him? No, I'm not going to think about that... but I'm losing him anyway!_

_He's leaving. And fuck, he **knows** I'll miss him that much. At least, I hope he knows. How can he not? And how can he leave so easily? It didn't even seem to bother him! He just said he'd go... just like that. Doesn't he remember what happened last night? He's in love with me... he's..._

Harry grabbed a pillow from the couch and wrenched it between his hands and continued to pace. He was angry, he was upset. Everything was all right, but everything was fucked up beyond belief. They were both alive and safe, but Draco was leaving. Somehow, he'd fallen for Draco, and it made so much sense, but it made no sense at all. And now that he was back in the familiar setting of Hogwarts, no longer in his place apart with Draco, common sense seemed to be creeping up on him.

_Maybe he's having second thoughts. Maybe, now that it's all over, he thinks this was a stupid idea. Now that we're back, and everything is different, and he has to deal – **we** have to deal with everything... maybe he's changed his mind. And maybe he's right. How much shit will we be in for this? Fuck, fuck, fuck... why me? Why him? And why did it take so long?_

_He's a boy. He's Draco Mal – he's Draco, and he's a boy. Of course I wouldn't think of it. It's just too unbelievable... right? There was no reason for me to realize it..._

All of the strange conversations he'd had with Draco about girlfriends and love interests came back to him, and Harry slammed his pillow against the wall a few times in anguish as he realized just how oblivious he'd been to the whole thing.

_Yes, he's Draco. Yes, he's a boy. And he's got grey eyes._

It was all Harry could do to stop himself from slamming his head against the wall in imitation of the pillow a moment before.

_Of course I knew what was happening... between us. I knew for days. And now, he's leaving._

With an animalistic growl, Harry hurled the pillow against the couch where it bounced once and landed on the floor. For some reason, that only made him feel worse, and he picked it up and began twisting it again.

_Why was I such an arse this morning? Why did I run off like that? I'm going to miss him, but that's a pathetic excuse. We're trying to protect him, but I wanted him to feel guilty for leaving. What kind of friend am I?_

He resumed pacing, scuffing his feet against the carpet as he walked.

_A friend who wants to be more than a friend._

For several minutes, Harry mentally kicked himself for his sheer stupidity. He needed to talk to Draco, but instead of being supportive, or at least waiting at the bottom of the stairs to Dumbledore's office, he'd run off like a proper arsehole, and was now sulking. Besides, he had no idea what he would say. _Goodbye_? _See you later_? _Do you remember that kiss we shared on the brink of death? It was good for me – was it good for you_? Nothing seemed quite right, and now, all Harry wanted to say was " _Don't go!_ "

He had to tell Draco how he felt. He'd never had a need to talk about things like this with anyone. In that dream, vision, or whatever it was that he and Draco had experienced on death's doorstep, it hadn't been the real, physical world. In desperation to save Draco's life, he had been able to say it without hesitation. And he had meant every word. But now...

_I already told him how I feel, but that wasn't flesh-and-blood. Everything was so desperate, I would have said anything. And I meant it! But what about now? Could I say those things to his face? I have to tell him before he leaves, though. I don't want him to go. Why so soon? Why? Why me? Why **us**?_

Harry thought back over the last two weeks. If he thought hard enough, he could still feel Draco's warm back against his as they settled down for the night, and Draco's hand clasped tightly in his as they helped each other over rocks and fallen trees. He could hear Draco laughing – mostly at him – and the way his voice sounded when he talked about things he was passionate about. He could see the smirk and the faint twinkle in Draco's eyes as he went to pull Harry from the pile of leaves. He could reach out and touch the goose bumps on Draco's arms and torso as he walked into the river. He could feel Draco's warm body against his in the cool water as they clung to each other, and Draco's limp body clutched tight in his arms as he walked and stumbled the rest of the way back to Hogwarts.

He never wanted to let go again.

But he had to.

Harry came to a stop like a wind-up toy that had run out of steam, and collapsed on the couch. He buried his face into the pillow that he was still holding, not crying, but occasionally shaking. He didn't really hear the door open, but he jumped with a start when he felt someone sit down beside him.

"It's okay, Harry, it's just me," said thin air. The Invisibility Cloak fell away, and Draco was sitting there, looking very sombre.

Harry quickly adjusted his glasses on his nose, unable to quite hide his shock at Draco's unannounced arrival. "Er... hi, Draco. Did... er... Dumbledore have anything interesting to say?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

Draco didn't answer right away. Instead, he was looking at Harry with such intensity, sincere yet gentle, that Harry had to wonder if Draco could see right through him.

"Draco?"

"Why did you run off like that, Harry?"

Feeling very childish, Harry cringed. "I... er... I guess I was a bit surprised at the idea of you leaving so soon."

"So am I. But you were already acting strangely when you woke up."

Harry had to look away. "I was sleepy. Not really in the mood to talk."

"You weren't acting sleepy," Draco insisted. "You were avoiding me."

"No!" Harry protested, but Draco gave him a piercing stare, and Harry shrank back again. "All right, so I was up most of the night, thinking too much."

"I thought Madam Pomfrey gave you a Dreamless Sleep potion!"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't drink it all. Just enough to put me to sleep, and I dumped out the rest of it. So I woke up in the middle of the night, and couldn't stop thinking. I didn't want to stop thinking anyway."

Draco seemed as surprised as Harry thought he would. "Wait... so you heard me talking with Dumbledore?"

Embarrassed, Harry nodded. He half expected Draco to be angry, but Draco only looked sad.

"So you already knew that I was going to be leaving when I 'woke you up', didn't you?"

Harry nodded again, feeling very sheepish.

Draco sighed and sat back against the couch. "My mother is still alive."

Now it was Harry's turn to be surprised. "She _is_?"

"Yeah. And so is my father. You were right. You-Know-Who was just messing with my head. But then, you're always right when it comes to him, so I've noticed."

"Not always," Harry said hesitantly. "So your parents are alive. That's a good thing, right?"

Draco's face warped in an unreadable expression. "Well, of course, but it complicates things."

"Complicates things?"

Draco quirked a smile. "I hear an echo. And yes. It does. I told you before... I still love my parents. We may not have had a warm, fuzzy sort of household, but I still love them. Before... I thought they were gone... and I could just begin a new life. Nothing to tie me back."

Harry's heart gave an uncomfortable _thump_. "You're not thinking about going back, are you?"

Draco looked mortified. "Contrary to everything I've done lately, believe it or not, I _don't_ have a death wish. If I go back... well, let's just say that my life expectancy would be far better in the Slytherin dungeons than in the Malfoy dungeons."

"Then... what?"

The odd little smile returned to Draco's lips. "It's just... that I'm going to be worried about them, you know. Plus, I'll have to wonder, for the rest of my life, what they think of me, if they miss me, and what might have happened if I'd stayed. I've already chosen my path, Harry. Even when I didn't know if we'd get back alive, I was willing to stick with this. I made my choice... that choice you wanted me to make... and now look at us. We made it. We're alive. That's as much as we could have hoped for when we started out – more than I had hoped for at many points along the way. And now that we're back, there's no way I'm changing courses now."

"So... where's the complication?" Harry asked, thoroughly confused.

"It's... an emotional complication. Even when the choice has already been made, and even if you're happy with that choice, it's not easy to give up one thing that you love for another. Or, more to the point, to give up one person that you love for another."

Harry's heart leapt again, but it wasn't painful this time. "What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

Draco shook his head and sidestepped the question. "What were you thinking about last night, when you should have been sleeping?"

"I... was thinking about you," Harry said, hearing his voice start to shake. Suddenly feeling too edgy to stay in his seat, Harry got up and began pacing again. "I was thinking about the time we spent together, and how it's coming to an end. I knew Dumbledore would try to send you away. Even before he showed up this morning, I knew what was going to happen. He's right, of course. I shouldn't have wanted to keep you here... but it seems like we've just started something, and now you're leaving! I can never have anything normal! Everything important to me always seems just out of reach, and there's nothing I can do about any of it. I keep losing things and people, and now I'm losing you."

Draco caught him by the arm and spun him around so that they were standing in the middle of the room, facing each other. "You're not losing me, Harry."

"Then what would you call it?"

"I'd call it a temporary arrangement. You're not losing me. You've got me, Harry. Whether I like it or not... I'm part of this fight now. And I'm ready for it. I'll only be able to hide for so long anyway, but then I'm coming back." Draco took a deep breath, looked at Harry for a long moment, and then moved a half-step closer. " _You never left me. And I promise, I'll never leave_ _you_."

Harry knew those words. He'd written them.

Draco reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small roll of parchment. "I got this back just now," he said as he unrolled it.

Harry recognized it at once, and bit down on his tongue in a vain effort to stop the tears from welling up as he reached out and accepted the parchment from Draco. It only took him a moment to read over the words he'd written before he put it aside. "I figured... if we both made it back... I could just ask for the parchment back... without you ever reading it. I meant it like a last message... oh, Merlin."

A hand cupped his cheek and forced him to look up into a pair of eyes shining with sincerity. "'Oh Merlin', what? You wouldn't want me to read this? Are you embarrassed about what you wrote?"

Harry shook his head, even though he did feel a bit embarrassed. It was all so awkward now.

Draco must have sensed his discomfort, because he frowned slightly. "Did you _mean_ what you wrote?"

"Of course!" Harry blurted out before he could think. "Er... I mean... well, yeah, of course."

"And did you mean what you said?"

"Said... when?"

Draco looked at him incredulously. "Don't you remember anything from last night?"

"Well... I wasn't sure if you had remembered it the same way that I had, or if you had changed your mind, and –"

Draco's other hand came up to completely trap Harry's face, and he leaned in, only inches away. "Well, let me try to clarify things. I believe that somewhere on the edge of death, you somehow remembered what happened on the night of the eclipse. And what you'd said the previous night when you were half asleep. And you shouted it out, and pulled me back from the edge... and there, in the middle of hell, you did this."

Draco kissed him. Not the hesitant, nervous kiss that some part of Harry's brain was expecting, but a bold, forceful kiss that would have knocked Harry backwards if Draco hadn't been holding his face so firmly. Harry was stunned. His heart was suddenly pounding furiously in his chest, and his mind was racing, but his lips were kissing back. And just as abruptly, Draco stopped.

Harry opened his eyes – when had he closed them? – to see Draco peering at him shyly, a comical contrast to his actions only seconds before. Harry licked his lips, surprised that he could already recognize Draco's taste on them. "Draco?"

Draco smiled. Slowly, he reached up and slipped Harry's glasses off, folded them, and tucked them into a pocket. They were so close that Harry could see him clearly enough, and the slight blur only made everything more surreal. "You said that your greatest fear was being alone. You faced death without fear… for me…" He leaned his forehead against Harry's, a gesture that felt incredibly comforting and familiar to Harry, before continuing. "After everything you've done for me… how could I ever let you be alone again?"

Draco moved to kiss Harry again, but Harry dodged him. "But you're still going to leave, aren't you?"

Draco's smile faltered. "I have to, Harry. But you know I'll come back as soon as possible."

It was supposed to be a reassurance, but it didn't make Harry feel much better. He looked at Draco for several seconds, trying to decide what to say next. "I need to know, Draco… what is this? Between us?"

Draco's face became pensive. "I'm not sure. I've never felt anything like it… but I think it's a good thing."

"Even though I'm a boy?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

Draco only smiled. "Remember when I said that there were no girls in Hogwarts in whom I had any interest?"

"Yeah… oh." Harry felt himself blushing.

"It's amazing how naïve you can be when you want to avoid the obvious answers," Draco teased.

"Don't remind me," Harry grumbled. "I almost needed to beat my head into the wall when I realized how many clues I had missed."

Draco laughed lightly. "And you had no idea you liked boys?"

"I don't," Harry said quickly. When Draco scowled at him, Harry cringed. "All right, so maybe there's some evidence. But I don't like _boys_. I think I just like you." Harry cringed again. "That sounded pretty stupid, didn't it?"

Draco smiled, his grey eyes peering into Harry's from only inches away. "You say stupid stuff all the time. But I won't hold it against you. You've said incredible things, too. And you said you loved me…"

Then Draco was leaning towards him, and Harry was closing his eyes, and the entire world existed in the tentative brush of lips and Draco's breath on his cheek. Somehow, Harry's hand found its way to the back of Draco's head, and Draco's arms were wrapped tightly around Harry's shoulders. It didn't make sense, but somehow, Harry knew it wasn't supposed to. After a long moment, Draco pulled back, but this time, he paused before breaking contact, and nibbled lightly on Harry's lower lip. In all his life, Harry had never realized that kisses could be like _that_. He let his lips linger against Draco's, and then, hesitantly, he traced Draco's upper lip with his tongue. Draco made a sound in his throat and caught Harry's mouth again with his.

When they finally broke apart, Harry was breathless, confused, happy, and nervous all at once. It was something he'd never imagined, and would never have wanted, but now that he had it, it was perfect. Even if Draco was leaving, he had this, here and now. "Draco… what does this all mean?" he asked, not even sure what "this" was, but somehow, he was sure Draco would understand.

"It means," Draco said slowly, "that life is going to be hell for both of us, and I wouldn't trade it for the world."

"If this is hell," Harry whispered, pulling Draco just a bit closer to him, "I can't imagine what heaven would be like."

"Well, well… Quidditch star, aspiring Auror, junior philosopher, _and_ cheesy poet."

"I'm sorry?"

Draco smiled. "Don't be. I think I like it."

Harry smiled back tentatively, and Draco's arms tightened around him. This time, when Draco kissed him, Harry met his lips eagerly. It seemed like forever, and not nearly long enough, when Draco suddenly pulled away with a gasp. "Harry... open your eyes and look."

The awe in Draco's voice made sense the instant Harry looked around. The Room of Requirement had changed. They were no longer standing in a small, cosy room with a couch and too many pillows. Instead, they seemed to be in the middle of an open field. It was night-time, and overhead, the stars glittered like diamonds. But the sky paled next to the unearthly dance of hundreds of glowing fairies floating all around them in a ring of light. Harry gasped and pulled Draco tighter against him, as if to anchor himself to something solid in such a surreal place. A second later, the sweet chiming melody reached his ears, and a familiar warmth welled up in his chest.

"It's all for us, isn't it?" Harry asked.

"It is."

"I was thinking… one night, while we were out there… that _that_ was all for us, too. The real fairy ring, the mountains, the stars. It was like our world apart, where nobody could touch us. Just us. I remember thinking that I would almost be sad to return to Hogwarts. Does that make any sense?"

"It does," Draco replied, and Harry detected a hint of sadness in his voice.

"It's really over, isn't it?"

"That part's over," Draco said with a shrug. "But this –" He gave Harry a squeeze. "– is just beginning."

Feeling just a bit awkward, but not so much that he wanted to pull away, Harry returned the squeeze. "I think... I think it's going to be okay." He looked back at Draco, whose face was now framed by the blurry lights of the fairies behind him, making his hair look like a bizarre halo. Harry laughed, and he felt some of the tension drain away as he did. "We're going to be okay."

"We are," Draco answered, and leaned in to kiss him softly. "And who needs heaven? This is better."

For a long time, they held each other, watching the fairies, not wanting to leave their illusion and return to the mundane world. Finally, however, they knew it was time. The door to the room was tucked into the side of a large beech tree at the edge of the field. Draco reached into the pack, which he was still carrying, withdrew the Invisibility Cloak, and threw it over Harry and himself before opening the door. The lights from the hallway seemed unnaturally bright after the soft glow of the artificial night-time. Sunlight was streaming through the windows, heralding the passing of yesterday's storm.

As the door closed behind them, a single piece of parchment fluttered to the ground, covered in hastily scrawled script:

_To Whom It May Concern,_

_If you're reading this, it's because Draco has returned to Hogwarts without me. Please consider this my last request. Welcome Draco as if he were me. It's not his fault I died. He did everything he could to save me. I have forgiven him, and I ask you to do the same._

_Draco is no more to blame for my death than the deaths of my parents, Cedric, Sirius, or any of the uncountable others who have died because of Voldemort – the real culprit in all this. Draco finally realized that he was in control of his own future. He chose to leave everything behind, risking his own life to escape with me, and has saved my life more than once out here. I know – I just_ know _– that if he could, he would trade places with me._

_I wouldn't want him to, though. If this is my fate, then I can accept it. I'm not afraid of death, but I am afraid of being alone. If you read this, you should know that I wasn't alone when I died, and for that, I'm grateful. I died in the company of a friend, someone that I love. I couldn't have asked him for more._

_Draco, please keep my Invisibility Cloak. After what we've been through with it, I can't imagine anyone else keeping it now. It's a part of me that you'll never have to leave behind. You never left me, and I promise I'll never leave you._

_~Harry  
_

*********

_I walked across an empty land.  
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand.  
I felt the earth beneath my feet.  
Sat by the river and it made me complete._

_I came across a fallen tree  
I felt the branches of it looking at me.  
Is this the place we used to love?  
Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?_

_And if you have a minute why don't we go  
Talk about it somewhere only we know?  
This could be the end of everything,  
So why don't we go  
Somewhere only we know?_

_(Keane)  
  
*********  
  
~FIN~_


End file.
